


A Beacon of Light

by Heath17_KO5



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Christen is sweet, F/F, Slow Burn, lighthouse keeper fic, tobin is a bit of a loner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heath17_KO5/pseuds/Heath17_KO5
Summary: Tobin loves her job as lighthouse keeper. She loves the solitude and the quiet far away from friends and family (though she could do without her family's concern). Except maybe she can't help notice one particular person when she goes into town for groceries. And maybe that someone notices her back too.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 172
Kudos: 838





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the lighthouse keeper t+c fic that nobody asked for. I honestly do not remember where the idea came from, but now it's here, and it was gonna be a oneshot and 5K in and I'm barely into what I want to write, so here is a new chaptered fic. Sorry.  
> Hope you like it!  
> Huge shoutout to DODO24 for the title!  
> xx

Tobin likes the quiet. She likes the solitude. She had known, when she started, how lonely the life would be. It was one of its appealing factors. 

Her family doesn’t really get it. The friends she’d left back home can’t understand it.

But she likes it. It’s peaceful. She has no one to answer to but herself. No one to impress. She has her job to do, and it’s an important one at that, but it gives her a decent amount of free time, and so she’s slowly turned one of the floors into an art studio. It’s easy enough to take a canvas and an easel up to the top and look out at the view. Sometimes she paints what she sees. Sometimes she lets her mind wander and paints other things. 

Always she finds tranquility in the solitude. 

Besides, it’s not like she never has any human interaction. 

She heads into town once a week when the weather is good and the ships are mostly out and she buys some groceries, always with a little extra that can keep if there should be a prolonged period of inclement weather. She stops into the little french patisserie that opened up a few years back and treats herself to an espresso and some pastries while picking up a few baguettes and croissants to take back to the lighthouse with her. She smiles at the familiar faces, though she’d be hard pressed to remember any of their names, and she makes small talk when she’s approached. 

Besides, her days are busy enough to keep her entertained. 

There’s always the shipping channels to follow and the forecasts to check and recheck. There’s regular maintenance that’s always necessary in an old building. And of course she always has to make sure that the light is ready to work when it’s needed. 

Beyond that, if she isn’t in an artistic mood, there are plenty of nooks and crannies to explore along the shore - a few shallow caves accessible in low tide, rocks to climb over, and nearby a green expanse of field that technically is part of her property, so she’s set up a small goal and takes a soccer ball out to shoot and juggle and kick around. 

She likes the solitude. She likes the tranquility. 

She tells herself she’s not running away, but instead running towards her inner peace. 

  
  


Tobin does her best not to engage. Not really. She prefers to keep people at arm’s length. It’s nothing about them personally, it’s just she didn’t take the job she did to invite people in. 

Of course, that’s not always easy. 

There’s a girl-

A woman, really. 

Eyes green as the sea but paler, more stunning in color. And her smile lights up the days brighter than the sun reflecting off the water. It’s-

Well, Tobin has eyes. She has eyes and she appreciates beauty and this woman is the purest definition of beauty she could imagine. 

She takes her sketchbook sometimes to the patisserie and watches her move behind the counter, serving customers with that dazzling smile that never falters. Sometimes accepting a refill on her espresso even though she doesn’t really need it, doesn’t especially want it. 

The woman gives her space, though, and the patisserie is good, which means it’s busy, so it’s not as if the woman has time to sit and chat. 

Not that Tobin wants that. 

When they do talk it’s always to the point, an order placed, an extra offered, a smile that gleams in her eyes, and a quiet thank you. 

And Tobin sits and she watches. 

Her sketchbook is filled with more pictures of the woman than she cares to admit. Perhaps one day she’ll learn her name. 

  
  


Fall brings unexpected beauty, but also unpredictable weather. 

Tobin doesn’t like to stray far from her post. Fog rolls in thick in the night more often than not and the lighthouse is a beacon that means life or death for those at sea. 

As it clears, Tobin likes to perch at the top, watching the vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds of the trees peek through the blanket of white until there is more color than not. Some days she paints. Some days she simply takes it in with a mug of coffee in hand, the steam swirling up only to get lost in the fog. Some days her peaceful solitude is broken by a radio from a ship or a phone call from family. 

Some days her mind feels cloudier than the views before her. 

  
  


“You doing okay?” 

Tobin represses the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m fine, Per. Just like last week.”

“I know, I know. You always say you are, but I’m allowed to worry about my little sister, aren’t I?” 

“You’re allowed to, but there’s no reason to.”

“It’s just you’re all alone out there, way up the coast...Look, I know you’re fine, I just- Don’t you get lonely?” 

Tobin can’t repress the sigh. She’s had this conversation before and she knows she’ll have it again. “Not really.”

“But you were such a social butterfly in college! You were always out partying with friends and hanging out with teammates-”

Perry cuts herself off and Tobin closes her eyes, willing her body not to tense, willing her hand not to reach towards her ankle. She takes a deep breath. 

“I ran into Lydia the other day.”

The name sends a flutter of memories shooting through Tobin, but she pushes them away. 

“She asked about you,” Perry informs her. 

And that-

Well, Tobin doesn’t think that her chest should clench at that information. She doesn’t think that she should be suffering from a vague wave of nausea. She doesn’t WANT it. But Perry doesn’t know the whole story. She never told anyone the whole story. 

So here she is. 

“Oh,” is all she says in the end. Not as a question. Not inviting more. 

Perry gives it anyway. 

“I told her you were doing good and enjoying life up north.”

“Then you didn’t lie,” Tobin replies. 

There’s a brief silence on the phone but it feels full. Tobin can practically hear Perry trying to craft her next question. 

“You don’t- You haven’t- Mom says you never mention anyone from there.” 

_ Ah, _ Tobin thinks,  _ blaming it on Mom. _ “There’s not really anyone to mention.”

“You haven’t made any friends, Toby? I mean...It’s been a few years now.” 

And there it is, the accusation. Tobin’s fingers are drumming impatiently on the railing, itching to go do something, to paint or to draw or to simply be done with this conversation. 

“I have friends.” 

It’s a lie, but Perry doesn’t need to know. 

“You do? That’s great! Tell me about them!”

She should have known she’d be tested. Her mind scrambles and the first thing she can come up with is green eyes, so she says, “Well, A friend, really. She’s sweet, soft-spoken, always smiling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her frown, actually. And she works in the patisserie in town, so sometimes she gives me a free chocolate croissant.” Technically none of that is a lie. Except the friend part. 

“She sounds lovely! What’s her name?” 

“What is this, a quiz? Perry, I’m FINE. I’m not lonely. I’m enjoying my art and my job and this area even though it’s far from home and family and friends. You don’t have to understand how I’m choosing to live my life, but you DO have to accept it.”

“Okay! Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. Just maybe mention this friend to Mom next time you talk? She worries,” Perry appeases. 

Tobin takes a deep breath. She’s not prone to outbursts. Not anymore. Her family has always known just how to push her buttons, though. “Yeah. Okay. Sure,” she replies. 

“Okay. Thanks.” 

Another pause, this one more drawn out. 

“You know we just love you, right?”

“I love you guys, too.”

“Will we see you at Christmas this year?”

This time the pause is for Tobin. She wants to say yes. She wants to promise. To say that she’ll be there and she wouldn’t miss it for the world. But the truth is- 

“I’ll see if I can find someone to watch the lighthouse for me.”

“You deserve holidays just like everyone else!” 

“I know, Per!” 

There’s a sigh on the other end, quiet and short, and Tobin feels the disappointment in it. 

“Okay, well, call soon, okay?” Perry requests. 

“Of course.” 

As soon as the goodbyes are out of her mouth she shuts off her phone for the rest of the day. 

Sometimes people are just too much energy. 

  
  


“Can I entice you into trying one of our chocolate eclairs? We just changed the cream recipe and they’re absolutely delicious.” 

Tobin’s eyes scan the selection in the case as if she really has to mull the offer over. “What if I liked the old cream recipe?” she suggests with the hint of a smirk on her lips. 

It’s-

She normally wouldn’t. Maybe it’s just her sister’s words ringing in her ears from the day before still. Maybe it’s the knowledge that there are storms rolling in and she might not make it into town again for a while. 

Green eyes dance and the corner’s crinkle as the woman behind the counter smiles. “I think you’ll adjust. Try one. On the house,” she encourages, not waiting for a response from Tobin before pulling one out of the case and setting it on a small plate painted with a hummingbird. 

“Well, who am I to turn down a free eclair?” 

“You’d have to be crazy,” the woman replies with a grin. 

“Who says I’m not?” Tobin challenges with a smirk. 

The woman laughs, a light musical sound, and something stirs in Tobin’s chest. It shouldn’t. She should ignore it. 

“Well, you are the town mystery, but I don’t think you’re crazy,” the woman replies. 

And that-

“You know who I am?” Tobin asks. 

“Mysterious but attractive lighthouse keeper with a weird name? Everyone knows who you are.”

Attractive. The word sticks in her mind, makes her bite her lip, makes her think, just for a second-

“Tobin,” she supplies. “It’s a family name.”

“That’s it. I couldn’t quite remember.” It’s said almost apologetically and that makes Tobin smile. “I’m Christen, by the way. In case you wondered.”

Tobin nods. It’s just the smallest of exchanges, really, but suddenly she feels overwhelmed. She eyes the espresso and the eclair sitting on the counter anxiously, and Christen (Christen - such a beautiful name, fitting somehow), pushes it towards her. 

“All on the house today. Since I got to talk to the elusive Tobin herself.” 

Tobin manages a tight-lipped smile and nods again. “Thanks, Christen.” 

The name feels foreign on her tongue and she swallows down the sudden hammering in her chest. 

She doesn’t stay once her snack and coffee are done today, and she forgets all about buying baguettes. 

  
  


“Mom, lighthouses are DESIGNED to withstand storms. It’s their entire purpose.”

“I know, honey, but these seem like they’re going to be especially bad, and I just want to make sure that you’re prepared.” 

She can hear the concern in her mom’s voice. She knows how hard it is for her sometimes, knows she checks the forecast for her regularly. She’s accepted that a mom’s job seems to be to worry. It doesn’t make it less frustrating, though. 

“I’m prepared. I went into town today and got supplies in case I’m stuck here for a while. I’ll have the storm shutters closed before the first drops fall. Mom, I KNOW how to do this, okay?”

“Okay, good. I’m sorry. I DO know that you know what you’re doing. It’s just hard, sometimes, for a mother to let go. And Jeff’s out of the house now too, and-”

“I know, Mom.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re more than prepared. How was your trip into town? Perry said you’ve been making friends!”

Tobin resists the urge to sigh. Of course Perry had gone straight to their mother with the slightest news, the slightest indication that Tobin was inclined to have a social life once more. “Um, yeah. It was good. Saw my friend Christen for a bit.”

The word “friend” is a definite stretch, but it’s a white lie, something to ease her mother’s mind, something that Tobin can control, unlike the weather. 

“Oh! That’s lovely! Christen? Is she-”

“Just a friend. She works at the patisserie in town.” Already Tobin regrets bringing her up. Already she can’t wait for the subject to change, for it to steer away to safer subjects. 

“Oh, well, that’s nice! Does she ever come out to you at the lighthouse?”

“No, I just see her in town. Hey, Mom? I hate to run, but I’ve actually got to set to work prepping for that storm you mentioned, so…”

“Right, yes, of course! Take care, sweetie! Stay in touch, okay?”

“Of course, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too!”

“Bye!” It’s a little rude and a lot abrupt, but she doesn’t even wait for her mother’s echo of “bye” before she ends the call. She takes a minute to breathe, to close her eyes and focus on the facts: she’s alone, she’s okay, she really DOES have a storm to prepare for. 

  
  


The first heavy drops fall from the angry, dark sky as Tobin closes up the last of the storm shutters. She’s already checked on the light and gotten a list of the ships that are officially in the area. Most people have docked safely already in anticipation of the storm as the seas grow choppier, so it should be a quiet night. 

By the time she makes it back to her door, the rain is coming down thick and heavy, angling strongly into her face as the wind picks up. She sheds her tall boots and heavy-duty raincoat, but she still needs to towel off her face and hair. She slips into her comfiest sweater, an oversized dark olive green cable knit men’s cardigan that is warm and dry and feels like home. 

She jumps when there’s a loud knock on the door. 

Maybe she had forgotten to anchor something. Maybe it’s just some debris hitting the door. 

But then there’s another knock, and another, insistent, pounding, and she pulls the door open in surprise. 

Standing before her, soaking wet, with a bike supported in one hand and a large satchel in the other, is Christen. 

Tobin doesn’t know what to do, so she just stands there, mouth hanging open, and stares. 

“Um, hi, any chance I can come in?” Christen calls as the rain hedges more towards torrential downpour and the wind howls past. 

“Oh! Shit! Sorry! Yeah! Come on in! Um, here, let me get that!” Tobin is quick to move, then, grabbing the satchel and placing it just inside before making sure that Christen has plenty of space to enter. 

Christen starts to rest her bike against the outside wall, but Tobin knows better and takes it from her, her hand brushing Christen’s already soaking wet one as she does so. 

“Better pull it in,” Tobin mumbles shyly, her skin burning hot despite the cold of the rain splashing against her. 

Christen nods and helps her maneuver it through the door before turning back to Tobin, hair soaked, coat so wet that it’s dripping to the floor, a pool of water settling around her boots. 

“You’re soaked,” Tobin says, mentally berating herself for such a stupidly obvious statement. “Um, here,” she mutters, thrusting the only slightly damp towel that she’d used to dry herself with into Christen’s arms. “Let me get another and, um, some dry clothes. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

She races up the stairs, up through the store room, up through her makeshift studio, through the kitchen, and up to her small bedroom. Her heart is pounding loudly in her chest, but it has little to do with the flights of stairs she’s just bounded up and a lot to do with who exactly is waiting at the bottom of them. Or maybe just the fact that ANYONE is waiting at the bottom of them. 

She grabs a clean towel and some sweatpants and a T-shirt and an old college sweatshirt just for good measure. She’ll stoke the fire, too, but she can’t have her first ever visitor chilled to the bone. 

She hurries back down, her heart hammering faster than her feet on the stairs and she comes to a stop so abrupt in front of Christen that she almost falls over from the momentum. “Clean towel,” she offers, trying not to let her eyes trace over the woman before her. 

Her hair gleams as wet curls drip water onto the floor. She’s shed her coat only to reveal an equally sopping shirt underneath that clings to her body in ways that seem sinful. Her jeans are soaked and tight and yet she’s smiling shyly at Tobin, wringing out her hair a little into the damp towel, throwing it over one shoulder, green eyes gleaming. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her hand dry when it brushes Tobin’s as she takes the new towel. 

“Um, and, uh clothes. Nothing exciting, but clean and dry and warm, so-” Tobin cuts herself off, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. 

There’s a moment where they look at each other, just looking, not doing anything else, and Tobin feels the weight of Christen’s gaze. And then she realizes WHY. 

She turns around quickly, already embarrassed. “Right, I’ll, um, give you some privacy now. I’m gonna go tend the fire upstairs. Just, um, come up when you’re ready. I’ll grab a blanket, too.” 

She barely hears the mumbled, “Thanks,” as she races back up the stairs.

It’s only once another log is on the fire and she has the kettle brewing to make some tea that her heart rate returns to anything resembling normal. 

  
  


Tobin jumps when Christen’s voice says a soft, “Hi.” She looks warm and cozy in Tobin’s clothes, the sweatshirt baggy on her, but somehow...she makes them look good. Better than Tobin makes them look, Tobin’s sure. 

“Hi,” Tobin echoes. She gestures towards the empty spot on the loveseat beside her. The furniture is sparse, but this is the first time she’s wished for more, if only to keep a healthy distance between them. “You can sit, if you want.”

“Um, thanks. I, uh…” She’s holding her bag again and she extends it towards Tobin. “I noticed you didn’t get any baguettes earlier, and I know you always do and with the storm coming you probably wouldn’t be back soon, and I thought I could make it here and back before it hit, but- Well…”

“Oh. Thanks,” Tobin mumbles, feeling her cheeks heat up as she stands and takes the bag from Christen, moving into the kitchen area and setting the bag on the small square of counter. She starts to unpack the baguettes and notices that there’s more in the bag. A box from the patisserie and a paper bag folded over. She doesn’t want to assume anything, though, so she turns questioning eyes to Christen. 

Christen hasn’t taken a seat on the loveseat. Instead, she’s leaning against the wall beside the kitchen space, an attractive blush coloring her cheeks as she says, “I threw in some pastries, too. Chocolate croissants and some of the almond ones, too. And I figured you can’t have baguettes without cheese so I stopped by the market...and...um...I hope you like brie? And cheddar? And goat cheese?” Each word is said more hesitantly, but Tobin feels the impact of each one fully. 

This person, this woman she barely knows, whose name she’s only just learned, had thought enough about her to bring her food, to notice what she’d forgotten, to get something extra. 

It’s-

Well, it’s a little overwhelming. 

She searches Christen’s face for an ulterior motive, for another reason why she might really be here, but all she sees is shyness and hope glinting in eyes the color of the sea after the storm has passed. 

“I love them. All cheese, actually. Thanks.”

Christen’s answering smile is dazzling, and then she’s moving beside Tobin, reaching across her into the bag, and pulling out the paper bag, and Tobin’s barely daring to breathe. 

Christen’s body is warm and soft, and her fingers brush the back of Tobin’s hand accidentally as she pulls the bag out. 

The touch is so unexpected that Tobin can’t stop the shudder that runs through her body. 

“I’ll just put this in the fridge for now?” Christen suggests, and Tobin nods, not quite trusting her voice. 

The kettle starts its whistle low, blending at first with the howling of the wind outside, but it grows shriller with each passing second, jarring Tobin back to the moment and spurring her to act. 

She pulls down two mugs, thankful that she has that many, and pours the steaming water into each. 

“Tea?” she offers. “I have herbal and English Breakfast,” Tobin mumbles, feeling embarrassed at her slim selection. There’s never been any need to shop for anyone’s tastes but her own since she started here. 

“Do you have chamomile?” Christen asks. 

“Yes! I do!” It comes out a little too eager, but she hides her blush by opening up the cupboard that contains her teas and getting them down. She opts for chamomile too, and sets both to steep. When she turns back to Christen, she’s still leaning against the wall, looking at her. 

Tobin can’t read her expression, can’t tell what’s behind the curiosity she sees written in her features, can’t really tell why she’s here. The wind howls louder outside and the shutters shake and she can hear the rain pelting against it. It gives her a reminder, a purpose, a way to escape. 

“Um, make yourself at home. I’m just gonna go check the lamp again.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Tobin tells herself that there’s no hint of disappointment in Christen’s voice. She tells herself it’s wishful thinking to think there might be. 

“The loveseat is pretty comfy,” she offers, already inching towards the staircase that will lead her on up. 

“Okay,” Christen repeats. 

And before she can think better of it, Tobin bolts. 

  
  


Up the stairs she checks the controls, she puts on her extra raincoat that she leaves upstairs because she’s so bad about forgetting her other one downstairs and does a quick check of the actual lamp. Technically it’s unnecessary. Everything is working fine. Everything HAS been working fine, and she’d checked it before Christen had arrived, but still, it feels good to be sure. If it stops working, it could mean death, and she knows there are a still a few vessels fighting their way back to be docked. 

The truth is, though- 

The truth is she needed the space to breathe. She needed the space away from Christen’s beautiful eyes and stunning smile. She needed the space without someone else in it, someone whose presence she can’t help but feel. 

It’s unnerving. 

And if the way that the rain had stung her face as the wind gusted it straight at her, and the rumbles of thunder she’d heard in the distance had been any indication, this wasn’t going to let up soon. Radar had the system stalling over them, fed by the winds off the water and the system coming down from the north. 

Christen biked. 

There’s no way that she-

She’s going to be-

Tobin takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she shrugs out of her raincoat and hangs it up on the hook. She checks over the equipment again for good measure, makes sure the batteries are charged. And then she remembers the backup generator. It should have enough fuel, but she hasn’t checked it. 

Normally she’d leave it. Normally she’d trust her most recent check. But having Christen waiting for her downstairs with nowhere to go…

She heads back downstairs with a new purpose in mind. 

“Hey,” she’s already saying as she enters the floor, “I just remembered I need to check on the backup generator. I’ll be back in a few.”

But Christen jumps to her feet and follows. “Oh, um, can I help at all?”

And Tobin wasn’t expecting that. “It’s outside because carbon monoxide and all that. You just got dry…”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind, and...um...do you maybe have a coat I could borrow?”

“Really, you don’t have to. I mean you already got soaked just to bring me some food, and-”

“And maybe to see you.” 

Tobin’s eyes go wide and Christen looks at the floor, her fingers playing nervously with the hem of Tobin’s sweatshirt as she bites her lip. When she glances up at Tobin, her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, and her grey-green eyes are bright and curious. 

“Oh,” Tobin manages. 

“Um, just, you know to check and make sure you have everything you need. For the storm,” she adds. 

“Right.” Tobin nods. Of course. To check on her. Not because-

“I mean, I’m the first one in town who’s really gotten to have a conversation with you, so I thought maybe...you could...use a friend, or something…”

There’s a shyness to her words, to the way she’s holding her body, and it makes Tobin wonder if maybe it IS because after all. 

“Um, yeah, I mean...it’s...It’s nice to have company,” she mumbles, feeling a blush forming on her cheeks. “But really - I’m just going to check. I’ll be right back. You...Stay here. Stay dry.”

Christen bites her lip and seems to ponder this for a moment, before she nods her agreement. 

“Really,” Tobin reiterates. “Just a sec. Be right back.”

She races down the stairs and is still pulling her raincoat on as she opens the door. 

This, unfortunately, means that she’s drenched before she’s managed to zip it up. The rain is pelting practically horizontal into her face, the drops large and painful as they splat against her skin. The wind is strong enough that she has to lean her whole body into it to make forward progress towards the small gated off area containing the generator. 

There’s an overhang, but it’s still hard to check the fuel level with the water dripping off of her hair and into her eyes when she leans forward. 

She’s trying to close the gate behind her, check complete, when a strong gust of wind blows it right out of her hand and it bangs against the wall so loudly she jumps. 

She moves to grab it, but the wind is so strong she can’t manage. She doesn’t want to leave it flapping in the storm though. 

The wind blows the hood off her head and water starts to drip down her neck and into her shirt until she’s shivering as the cold seeps into her back. 

“Fuck!” she swears, the sound drowned out by the roaring waves and the howling wind. “FUCK!” she yells louder, just because she can. Who’s going to hear it above the storm? Who’s out here anyway?

She makes another attempt with the gate, but the wind is working against her still. 

“God dammit!”

And then Christen is there, sweatshirt soaked through, water dripping from her nose, but a smile on her face anyway. “Need help?” she calls over the cacophony of Mother Nature. 

Tobin doesn’t want to admit it, but she does, and here is this ridiculously adorable woman here in front of her, getting soaked to the skin, offering it. Tobin still doesn’t know why, but at the moment she’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Please,” she sighs with a grateful nod. 

Christen moves beside her and together they strain against the wind, moving the heavy wooden gate inch by inch until the wind catches it from the other side and slams it shut. 

Tobin is quick with the lock and then she’s grabbing for Christen’s hand and dragging her towards the door, getting her back inside as quickly as possible. 

It’s only once they’re inside, the raucous of the storm muffled by the sturdy walls around them, that Tobin realizes what she’s done, that she takes note of Christen’s hand slotted comfortably in her own, cold and a bit wet, yet filling her with warmth somehow. She drops it like she’s been scorched and then looks away shyly. 

“So, I’ll go find us some dry clothes again?” she suggests. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” Christen mumbles. 

Tobin’s already got one foot on the stairs before she turns back and says, “Thank you. For the help. You didn’t have to come out.”

“You said just a sec and then you were gone for a little while. I just-” Christen hesitates, biting into her bottom lip again. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Tobin bites back the instinctual, “I had it covered,” and instead says, “Thank you.”

And then she’s bounding up the stairs again, not caring about the wet trail she’s leaving in her wake, because once again she can’t breathe for the closeness of someone in her space. Someone who is going to be wearing a second set of her clothes in the span of an hour. Someone who is likely going to be stuck here all through a storm. 

She catches her breath only once she’s in the safety of her own room, a puddle forming on the floor around her. 

“Fuck,” she mumbles to herself. Grey-green eyes and a dazzling smile flash through her mind. The word friend flits through as well. 

She can’t dwell. Christen is downstairs soaked to the bone and probably shivering by now. 

She changes quickly, throwing on some flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt and grabbing another pair of sweats for Christen along with a blanket from the closet and heads back down the stairs. 

And Christen is standing in her living room, wet sweatshirt peeled off, T-shirt stuck to her and- 

Well, and see through. 

Tobin swallows hard at the outline of toned abs and tanned skin before she forces herself to look away, a blush rising in her cheeks. 

“Um, here,” she mumbles, holding out the clothes without looking. 

“Thanks,” Christen replies. 

And then there’s the sound of wet clothes being taken off and squelching onto a pile on the floor and Tobin closes her eyes and starts counting sheep in her mind to think about anything but the fact that Christen is now virtually naked in the same room as her. 

“Okay, it’s safe to look.”

Tobin doesn’t for a second. And when she does she sees that Christen is turning around to face her, hair still dripping. She’s reaching for the clothes on the floor before Tobin can think to move and help her. And then Christen’s hands are touching hers again, and Tobin looks up into her face, and Tobin’s not sure she’s ever seen someone quite so beautiful so close. 

It shouldn’t be the first thought through her head. 

It shouldn’t be a thought at all. She’s not looking for romance. She LIKES her quiet. She LIKES her solitude. 

“You’re going to need to ride the storm out here,” she hears herself say, voice a little hoarse. “The loveseat pulls out into a bed. It’s not the most comfortable mattress, but it beats going out in the storm again. And I’ve got enough food. And baguettes now, thanks to you.”

Christen smiles at her, and they’re still both holding the sopping wet clothes between them and Tobin’s still looking at her, and it’s-

“Thanks,” Christen replies. “I’m really glad I came.”

And Tobin doesn’t say it but she thinks that maybe she’s glad Christen came too. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen and Tobin weather the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the super long wait. Hopefully the next one won't be as long, but realistically I make no promises. I hope this lives up to expectations.

They play cards. 

Tobin doesn’t have a lot of stuff for entertaining people. It’s not like she expected this. But she has a deck of cards. She likes to play solitaire. So she pulls out her deck of cards as thunder rattles the shutters and the wind howls, splatting the heavy rain horizontally, and she deals out a game of War. 

Christen giggles as she slaps down a king triumphantly. “Yessss! I’m winning.”

Tobin finds herself smiling, sneaking glances at the way Christen’s nose crinkles as she laughs, at the freckles spattered across her cheeks leftover from the summer sun, at the unique green of her eyes as they flash in the low yellow light of her cozy kitchen. 

There isn’t a lot of space there. Tobin’s never minded. She doesn’t need a lot of space, but some part of her has maybe always thought that it would be cramped if she was more than one person. Except it doesn’t feel cramped right now. It feels-

Perfect. 

Of course, this is a visit with a set endpoint. Christen will leave as soon as the storm is over. If it wasn’t she might feel differently. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve played this since I was a kid with my sisters. My dad banned it at one point because we’d get too competitive,” Christen tells her with a soft, almost musical voice and a thoughtful smile. “This is nice.”

Tobin smiles at her again. She feels a little shy, and she’s not really sure what to say. Part of her thinks that she should be providing more conversation, but then Christen doesn’t really seem to mind. 

They both flip over a three next and it’s kind of adorable the way that Christen leans forward in her seat excitedly as she lays out three cards face down on top of it. She eyes Tobin eagerly, waiting for her to do the same, fingers tapping on her stack of cards expectantly. 

Tobin does it and looks up, “Ready?” she challenges. 

Christen’s eyes meet hers, and suddenly Tobin doesn’t feel ready at all, but she’s not quite sure for what. 

Thunder rumbles loud and close, shaking the building, and Tobin jumps, knocking the table enough that the cards shift on it. She feels a blush flushing on her cheeks as she mutters, “Sorry.” She’s a damn lighthouse keeper. She doesn’t get jumpy around lightning. 

But, then again, it’s not really the lightning that has her on edge. 

Christen smiles understandingly, her eyes still expectant, her fingers still hovering above the cards. 

“Ready,” Tobin assures her quickly, and flips her card as Christen flips hers. There’s a loud groan from Christen and Tobin can’t help the smug, “Yessss!” out of herself. 

Christen glowers, just for a moment, and there’s a, “Dammit!” exclaimed when she realizes that she’s lost and ace. She sits back with a sulk and crosses her arms in a way that Tobin probably shouldn’t find as adorable as she does. 

“I’m starting to see why your dad banned the game,” Tobin teases. It comes out easily, almost too familiar for how little she knows her, but it’s enough to make Christen smile again, so Tobin doesn’t question it too much. 

  
  


Normally when there’s a storm outside, Tobin sleeps well. The sound of the wind and the rain is soothing in it’s own way, and it makes Tobin glad to curl up inside under her blanket, let the softness of her pillow swallow her up. It feels like her own little cocoon of safety, and the storm feels like a barrier keeping her isolated away from the outside world and any problems it brings with it. 

Tonight sleep is slow to come. 

She’s not worried about things malfunctioning. She checked them again before bed. The generator has plenty of fuel, the light is working like it should, the computers are up and running. Besides, all of the ships that were due in have arrived or detoured. Nobody should be foolhardy enough to be out on the water in this. If they are, her light will guide them. 

She checked the fire on the main floor before bed, too, lingering longer than normal despite the fatigue behind her eyes and the stifled yawns from both her and Christen. 

And that-

That is why sleep is eluding her. 

Christen. 

Beautiful, surprisingly kind, with a soft melodic giggle, and green eyes like the sea after a storm, but paler. 

Christen who pouts when she loses at cards, who looks sheepish after she practically polishes off a whole block of cheese by herself, and who looks radiant as she pulls the blanket up around her a little tighter in the soft glow from the fire. 

Christen who is in her space, in her lighthouse, in this place she’s made a home.

Christen who is one floor down and yet might as well be in the room, sharing a bed with her, because she will not leave Tobin’s mind. 

She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need someone on her mind like this. It’s not-

It’s not why she came here. 

Just because she’s cute and friendly doesn’t mean-

Besides, Tobin doesn’t even know if she likes girls. Not that it matters if she does because-

Well, it just doesn’t. 

Tobin rolls over, finds the cool spot for her face on the opposite side of her pillow, stretches out her legs to the far side of the bed, finding the cold there. The wind howls and rattles the shutters. She can hear the pelting of the rain, thick and heavy. She’s checked the radar and there isn’t apt to be a solid break anytime soon. 

That means Christen will stay. Christen will stay past breakfast in the morning, at least well into tomorrow, and that-

What will they talk about?

What CAN Tobin even think of to talk about for that long? 

How long will Christen continue to seem charmed by her evasiveness when the conversation turns to Tobin herself? 

How many rounds of war can they actually play? 

If she were by herself, she’d spend the time sketching or painting, but Tobin isn’t sure that’s okay to do with someone else. What if she doesn’t like art?

Worse: what if she wants to see Tobin’s art? 

Tobin rolls over again and slides the blankets a little lower. While normally she’d take comfort in their warmth, tonight they feel stifling. 

Can she do this? Can she be social? 

She has her reasons for seeking solitude and they haven’t changed. 

She doesn’t think they’ve changed.

She doesn’t think she’s changed. 

And yet perhaps what is currently keeping her awake more than any other thought, is the idea that once the storm is over Christen will in fact leave, and then what if she has no reason to ever come back?

  
  


“So how do you normally fill your time, oh mysterious lighthouse keeper?” Christen asks over breakfast. “Somehow I don’t think you spend all your time playing solitaire.”

“It’s a quality game. With multiple variations,” Tobin replies, the hint of a smile on her face. 

Christen somehow looks even cuter this morning, all sleepy eyes and slightly askew hair and soft smiles. 

It’s-

It’s nothing. 

She looks back at her bowl of cereal, biting back her urge to watch Christen’s reaction. 

There’s a small chuckle. “Okay, but really. I want to know.”

There’s something in the way she says it, something in her tone, that makes Tobin’s breath catch in her throat. And then she’s blurting out, “Art.”

“Art?” 

Of course she heard. Of course with the wind howling and the storm raging and the fire crackling in the fireplace, Christen still heard Tobin’s answer. 

Tobin clears her throat. “Um, yeah. I just, like, draw or paint, usually. Especially if the weather’s bad so I can’t hike.”

“I love to hike!” Christen declares. “Have you taken the red trail in the East Woods? It takes you up, and it’s a bit steep, but the views are gorgeous!”

Tobin feels her face blushing. She shakes her head. “No, I usually stick close to the shore. There are, um, like caves and stuff, if you can make it over the rocks. Especially at low tide.”

“Oh! Yes! I’ve heard about those. My older sister, Tyler, went exploring in some of them with some friends when she was in high school. They almost got stuck because of the tide. They do a lot of warning kids in town not to because the rocks are treacherous and the tides can be unpredictable if a storm rolls in.” 

Tobin raises her gaze, sees Christen peering at her with curious eyes. 

“You really go wandering around there?” There’s a hint of awe in her voice. 

Tobin shrugs, feeling her cheeks flush. “They’re pretty cool.”

Christen’s gaze falls to her lap. “I’ve always been too scared.”

The words “I’ll take you sometime” die on her tongue. She can’t quite spit them out. It’s a promise, a commitment to another person, and she -

“So tell me about your art,” Christen says, raising her head back up with a smile. “Can I see it?”

  
  


She has canvases spread around the perimeter of the room, three or four deep in some spots. The exception to this is the tilted artist desk she has wedged under the window, a rectangular shape in a round room making it an irregular fit. An easel is collapsed to one side, not currently in use. It’s not a display room. It’s a storage room. A work room. She does most of her artwork on the go, most of her sketches sitting out somewhere, perched high beside the light or out on the rocks, in a field, in the woods. She likes to take her easel out and work with what she sees before her. Normally the mess in here isn’t an issue, but suddenly she’s fighting the urge to right every easel, every canvas, to pile every piece of paper neatly. 

She stands near the stairs, fingers fidgeting. She’s not good at keeping them still for long. It’s better with a pencil or a brush in them. She settles on running through her knuckles, pushing down on each in turn. They aren’t cracking, but it’s a motion that’s familiar, comforting. Her eyes trail Christen as she moves around the room, pulling out canvases that are hiding behind others, looking, wordless, then carefully placing it back exactly where she’d found it. 

The silence is driving Tobin mad, even if it’s not actually all that silent. The wind is still howling, the rain is still pelting, though they’re lower here, the noise from the top seems more muffled. 

Finally Christen breathes out, “Wow!” 

Tobin lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Yeah?” she asks nervously, biting at her lower lip as Christen unearths another canvas and studies it. 

“God, you’re SO talented, Tobin! I feel like these should be in a gallery!” 

Tobin grins. She can’t help it. She doesn’t normally show off her work (let alone to a pretty girl), but with Christen saying THAT, well -

“Thanks.” She can feel the blush starting on her cheeks. It’s just the compliment. She hasn’t gotten one in a while. Not about her art. 

Christen continues to move around the room, continues to pause at every single picture, even the ones that Tobin doesn’t think all that highly of, that she’s mentally catalogued as scrap canvas to paint over and reuse for something better. 

“Seriously, these are amazing, Tobin!”

And there’s something about the way she says Tobin’s name, the way she glances over her shoulder with a shy smile and a look of awe in her stunning green eyes that makes Tobin swallow hard, makes her heart beat a little faster. 

She wants to impress her, she realizes. And that -

That’s silly. That’s dangerous. 

Her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, and she can feel heat flooding down her neck. She swallows again. “Thanks. They’re...just a hobby.”

“Well, someone should be paying you for them. Oh! You know what? We should totally put some up at the patisserie! You know how some places will, like, showcase local artists and have the pictures for sale? We should do that!”

Part of her feels thrilled at the idea, but then the reality hits. Her artwork would be attached to her name. She’s come here to be unknown, and this would make her known. Looking around the room she sees a piece of herself in each work of art. 

Suddenly having Christen in here, scrutinizing everything feels like too much. She moves to her side and takes the canvas from her hands, setting it back down a little too hard, ignoring the way it knocks another piece to the ground. “Yeah, I don’t know. They’re not that great. And they’re mostly scenes that everyone around here knows anyway.”

“That’s why they’re amazing! People love that sort of thing!” Christen protests, but Tobin’s already shaking her head. 

“Nah. I’ll probably paint over half of them anyway. Reuse the canvases, you know?”

Christen opens her mouth, and Tobin can tell she wants to argue more, but she doesn’t. She closes her mouth, purses her lips, and now she’s looking at Tobin with a curious gaze. 

“Um, I should do another check.” She motions up towards the light, towards the control room. “Would you mind putting another log on the fire?”

Christen nods. “Yeah. Sure.” 

She doesn’t comment on the way that Tobin has basically asked her to leave the room, but Tobin knows she heard it, she understood. Tobin’s not sure if her lack of comment is a good thing or a bad thing. 

  
  


Conversation flows easily in the afternoon. Mostly that’s because Christen has begun to ask questions about her work. She comes with her to the control room and asks a lot of questions, but they’re intelligent, not annoying. She watches with that same curious gaze, taking everything in, taking Tobin in. 

Tobin feels her eyes burn into her, feels the weight of her gaze. It’s almost suffocating, but at the same time -

Almost nice?

Is that possible? 

Has she been missing human contact more than she thought? 

Or is it because  _ this  _ human contact is with someone so beautiful, so sweet, so clever? 

“Shit,” she murmurs, realizing that there’s a malfunction. “I’ve gotta check the light.”

She’s already pulling on the raincoat on the hook by the staircase up when she realizes that Christen is following after her. 

“No, it’s okay. Only one of us has to get wet. In fact -” 

Normally she’d check and come back and adjust if necessary then go check again. Hopefully it’s just a software glitch anyway. But since there’s actually someone else here…

She moves back to the controls and indicates a green switch. “If I call down could you flip this for me?” 

Christen’s eyes go wide and she gets a grin on her face that Tobin would almost describe as “giddy”. “Wait, really?” Christen asks. 

Tobin can’t help but laugh. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just...I don’t know. It’s cool!”

“Flipping a switch?”

“Working the lighthouse! That you trust me not to mess it up.” Christen looks a little sheepish, but her words hit Tobin square in the chest. 

Trust. 

She trusts her. 

And she does.

With this, at least. 

She shakes her head. She has time to unpack that later. Right now, she needs to go check the light. 

“Okay, so I’ll yell down if you need to flip it, okay?” 

Christen nods, her hand already hovering over it. 

Tobin giggles at her eagerness. The words “you’re cute” get halted at the tip of her tongue, leaving her standing there dumbly with her mouth open for a moment before she turns and heads up the stairs without another word, her cheeks burning. 

One panel is flickering, just like she feared, and so she moves to the stairs and calls down over the roar of the storm. “FLIP IT! OFF THEN BACK ON!”

She watches as the bank of lights goes dark and shields her eyes, waiting for them to turn back on. 

It takes a few seconds, but then all of them blink back to life. 

She breathes out deeply and hurries back inside, dripping only slightly as she’d still been mostly shielded from the storm. 

“Did I do it? Did I help?” Christen is so eager, so excited about it, Tobin has to smile. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Christen practically beams at her. “Yay! Okay. Good. That was...fun. Thanks, Tobs.” 

Tobin’s just shed her raincoat, placing it back on the hook, and now Christen’s hand is on her arm, warm and soft. 

The blush that had abandoned her in the face of her duty returns with a vengeance. 

“Yeah, well, thank you. Saved me some trips up and down the stairs,” she murmurs, feeling her face grow even hotter. “Shall we make dinner?”

  
  


Christen is a great speaker. All of the eloquence, all of the easy flow of words that Tobin has never really had, Christen seems to possess easily. 

Maybe that’s why it’s already after midnight and she finds herself still curled up on the couch beside Christen, knees tucked under her chin as she watches the firelight dance across Christen’s face. It’s beauty in motion and she’s tempted to go get a sketchbook while she listens to Christen talk, relaying stories from her childhood with her whole body, hands waving through the air as she outlines the shape of the costume she and her older sister designed, shaking in front of her as she acts out her younger sister’s reaction when they jumped out at her, leaning back, holding onto her legs that are crossed under her as she laughs at the memory. 

And Tobin smiles. She listens and she smiles and despite the storm, despite the invasion on her space and the way she’s felt so on edge all day after a rough night’s sleep, she’s surprisingly calm. 

Outside the storm still rages. The waves crash against the rocks and the rain pelts at the building and the wind howls through the shutters, but inside it is cozy and warm. Inside the fire is bright, casting an orange glow over the space. The overhead light is off, and it feels like a little bubble of just the two of them, tucked up on the couch, blanket shared between them. 

And then Christen says, “What about you? What’s your family like?” 

The smile freezes on Tobin’s face, hardens. A dozen answers spring to mind, but none of them seem like the right way to introduce someone new into her family. She hesitates for a moment, and then another moment. She can see Christen starting to regret her question, but that might give her the wrong impression. It’s not that she doesn’t love her family. That’s not it at all. They’re not bad. They’re just -

“Complex. A little overbearing. But loving,” she replies. 

Christen nods. “I feel like most families are complex.”

It’s an out. She’s not prying, and for now Tobin takes it. “Yeah, probably.”

“You mentioned a brother? Earlier?”

Tobin grins more genuinely. “Yeah. Younger. He’s an idiot. I love him.”

Christen laughs.

“He doesn’t nag, though, like my sisters and my mom.” It slips out. A little too truthful. 

Christen doesn’t latch on, though. Instead she nods. “Oh yeah, that is definitely a big sister and a mom thing. Mine are the same.” And then the conversation is back on Christen and Tobin can breathe easy again. 

It wasn’t as painful as she anticipated, talking about family, thinking about home. 

She’s not quite sure what that means. 

  
  


The storm starts to ease by noon the next day. The sky is still dark, but the rain has lessened and the wind is nothing more than a breeze. Soon Christen will be able to leave, to bike home, to get back to her life. 

And Tobin will get back to her solitude, to her art, to her private space. 

She’s not looking forward to it nearly as much as she thought she would. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is coming up and Christen wants Tobin to be a part of the town's celebrations (and maybe Tobin just wants to spend more time with Christen).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been a while since I updated, but the timing kind of works out with this chapter encompassing Halloween. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story. The feedback on it has been amazing and so much more than I expected. Thank you! xx

It feels almost like a dream. She falls back into her routine so easily with nobody in her space that it almost feels as if she was never really there at all. If it weren’t for the extra load of laundry to wash her spare blankets and the few articles of clothes that Christen had borrowed, Tobin might have assumed that she wasn’t. 

But she sees ghosts of her around the lighthouse. When the system puts out an error message again and there’s no one to yell down to to flip a switch, she thinks of her. When she sees the deck of cards sitting out on the side of the table, she can’t help but smile. When she curls up by the fire at night with a good book, she thinks of conversation filling the air with sound. 

It’s a few days after Christen leaves before she needs to head into town for a food run, and Tobin finds herself nervous about it. 

What if Christen was glad to leave? She probably was. How awkward must it have really been for her to be in someone else’s space, especially someone so used to solitude. 

Yet Tobin WANTS her to have enjoyed it. 

(And that, she recognizes, is dangerous.)

  
  


Christen greets her with a beaming smile and an extra chocolate croissant in her bag, and Tobin tells her, “For here,” when she orders her coffee. 

She’s not sure why. She hadn’t intended to. She still has 2 more stops to make before she can head home and the start of fall means that the weather could shift any time, even if the radar looks clear. 

She tucks into her usual spot and pulls out her sketchbook, letting the pencil drift idly over the paper at first in between sips of her coffee. 

And then Christen is approaching and she realizes just what she’s been sketching and slams the book closed so abruptly that it feels like all of the eyes in the place turn to her. 

“Coffee good?” Christen asks. 

Tobin nods, takes another sip, “Yes, thank you.”

“Great! Good. I’m glad.” 

There’s an awkward pause and Christen isn’t moving away and Tobin is desperately trying to wrack her brain for anything remotely interesting to say, but then Christen says, “Do you think you could help me with something?”

Tobin’s eyes go wide because she’s not exactly sure what she might be good to help with. “Um, yeah. Sure. What?”

Christen scoots in beside her and Tobin ignores the warmth that she brings, the way her knee bumps into her, the way that this feels surprisingly intimate in such a public setting. 

“Okay, so you probably know that every year there’s a big haunted maze that gets set up, and every year it’s somewhere different.”

Tobin nods. She’s never been, but she’s seen the signs around town. 

“Well, we’re who organizes it. My family, I mean. And, well, somewhere we’ve never done one, that would have appropriate spooky atmosphere, as well as plenty of ground to set up the maze is…”

Tobin waits expectantly for the sentence to finish, and Christen is looking at her with pleading eyes that are a now familiar shade of sea green. 

“Your lighthouse?” Christen says. 

Tobin’s heart starts to pound faster in her chest. 

“In my lighthouse?” Something akin to panic grips at her chest. Inviting Christen in is one thing, but the entire town?

“No! No. Just like the grounds around it. Nobody would go inside. That would be a major invasion and I shudder to imagine the mess created by so many boots tramping through. No. Just outside. Doesn’t even have to be that close because the lighthouse stands so tall it can be visible throughout the maze anyway, kind of like something to give people their bearings.”

Tobin relaxes, but only slightly. Some of the rockface nearby is quite sheer. If a child wandered away or got lost -

As if anticipating her thoughts, Christen adds, “And we wouldn’t go too near the edge of the cliff, obviously. We do NOT need that liability. More like on the lawn approaching? Heading up the hill?” 

Tobin mulls it over. It’s closer than she’s ever invited the town to her. Just the thought makes her uneasy. But Christen is looking at her with pleading eyes and a hopeful smile and she hears herself saying, “Yeah, that would be okay,” before she’s even properly thought it through. 

“Really? Oh my God! You’re the best! Thank you, Tobs!” Christen declares as she throws her arms around Tobin and pulls her into a hug. 

Tobin sits there startled for a moment, warmth flooding through her both at the nickname and the contact. She manages to pat her back awkwardly before Christen is pulling away, cheeks a little rosy, smile a little sheepish. 

“And, I don’t suppose I could convince you to dress up as the ghostly lighthouse keeper for the maze?” 

Tobin chuckles. “That’s a lot of requests for someone who just sheltered you from a storm for three days.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound so accusing. 

“I know, I know. It’s a lot. Just...think about it?” Christen asks, and Tobin’s relieved to see that she doesn’t seem to be offended by her words. 

Tobin bites her lip then nods. 

“Okay. Great. Thank you. Again. I should...probably go do my job,” Christen says, nodding to the counter where she’s left someone else momentarily in charge and the line that is beginning to grow. 

“Okay,” Tobin replies. 

“Okay,” Christen echoes again, then shoots Tobin her megawatt smile, and heads back behind the counter. 

Tobin ignores the curious glances shot her way. She isn’t usually one for long conversations in town. She knows the rumors that swirl about her. They’re easy enough to ignore, even when a few of the boys from town call, “HERMIT KEEPER!” after her in the streets. 

Maybe Ghostly Keeper would be an improvement.

  
  


“Yes, the storm was fine!”

“Well, I expected a phone call and one didn’t come. You can’t blame me for worrying.”

“Mom, it was just a storm. I’ve been through lots of them.”

“It was a BIG storm. We even had news reports about it down here. Flooding along coastal areas and everything.”

Tobin sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry. I should’ve called. But honestly it was fine. There was no flooding here.” 

“Okay.” 

Tobin opens her mouth to say that she actually had company this storm and closes it again. It’s really, really not worth the barrage of questions her mother will inflict on her if she says it. Let alone the follow up questions that will last weeks. “Mom, honestly you need to worry less.”

“Oh, honey, you have to understand it’s a mother’s job to worry.”

“No, it was your job to raise me so that I could take care of myself. Which you did. Here I am. Taking care of myself.”

Tobin ignores the heavy sigh at the other end of the line. “Tobin.”

“Mom, I know, okay? But honest, I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well, call again soon, okay? I miss hearing your voice.”

“Sure, Mom,” Tobin lies easily. “Bye!”

“Goodbye. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

  
  


Christen invites herself over and this time Tobin doesn’t mind. Especially because she shows up with a loaf of baguette and some more cheese. It’s really hard to say no to that. 

She also comes with drawn up plans for what they might do for the maze, and it’s...a lot. 

“Wow.”

“I know, but look, if we do the haunted hayride up from town, then do the spooky trail from here to the start of the maze, it’ll be the longest experience that we’ve ever done. Seriously the town will be talking about it for years.”

Tobin finds herself watching Christen, watching as she waves her hands about in her enthusiasm for this project, noticing the way her eyes crease in the corners and her mouth twitches up into this smile as she talks, and it’s…

It’s nothing. 

It’s normal. 

It in no way sways her ability to refuse this project. 

“Yeah, I mean it sounds really cool,” she replies. 

“You’re hesitant. I get it. But, okay, so Channing will work the entrance. She’s great with kids, she’ll hype them up and her costume will be like vaguely spooky, but not scary, right? We’ll build to scary. And then we’ll have an early exit from the maze for families with little kids and then an extended part for older kids and grown ups, and THAT’S where the real fun will start. Jump scares and the like, and then they’ll exit here, near the lighthouse, which is where I’m hoping that you will be dressed as the ghostly lighthouse keeper?” 

Christen’s biting her lower lip and looking at Tobin through long lashes. She’s clearly anticipating the no, and that makes Tobin want to surprise her. 

“Okay,” she agrees. 

It’s stupid. It’s ridiculously stupid. Offering up her grounds should be enough. She shouldn’t get involved, and yet…

“Really?” Christen sounds elated. “You’re amazing!” 

The words flood through Tobin, and make her feel simultaneously shy and warm all over. And then Christen is throwing her arms around her neck and pulling her into a hug, but this time there are no prying eyes of other customers and neither of them is seated to make it slightly awkward. This time it’s just the two of them, standing in Tobin’s kitchen, looking at plans for a halloween maze. Tobin wraps her arms around Christen’s waist and tries not to think about how nicely they fit like this. She ignores the way her heart is racing and her skin feels like every atom is excited at the contact. 

There’s a moment where the hug lingers. At least, Tobin thinks it does, but each second holding Christen to her feels a millenia, so she can’t be entirely sure. 

And then Christen pulls away, a sheepish smile on her face, and she pulls a few new pieces of paper out of her bag and says, “So I took the liberty of sketching out some potential costume designs? Just in case you said yes.”

Tobin shakes her head and laughs. What else can she do? A week ago nobody here really knew her, and now one resident has her volunteering for one of the fall’s biggest events. 

It’s...well, it still feels a bit surreal. 

  
  


The maze being constructed on her property means that Christen is around a lot when she’s not at work. 

It also means, much to Tobin’s dismay, that she’s officially introduced to Christen’s entire family. Not just her sisters. No. Her dad, her mom, her grandmother, her aunts. Everyone is in on the Halloween maze fun, so everyone shows up, bringing lumber to construct sturdy frames or hay bales or painted pieces of plywood or various gourds or decorations as the set up progresses. The maze and the path and the hayride will run for the entire month leading up to Halloween, and Christen has already floated the idea of doing something extra spooky for Halloween night. 

It’s all a little…

Overwhelming. 

And then Christen is walking towards her with a baby on her hip and Tobin thinks maybe she’s forgotten how to breathe. 

It’s not -

Tobin doesn’t want kids.

Well, she doesn’t think she does. 

It’s not like it’s really an option anyway. 

She’s locked herself away from the world, and especially from dating, and it’s not like she’s going to grow her own human just for some human contact. Besides, the money and the time -

But she likes kids. No, she loves them. If she misses anything from her life before it’s her nephew. 

And then Tyler’s coming over with a ghost that looks broken and Christen’s saying, “Sorry, could you take her for a sec?” and then Tobin is holding the baby, looking down into dark brown eyes that regard her curiously if a little suspiciously. Small lips pout out and Tobin’s worried that the baby is about to burst into tears so she says, “Hi!” in a high pitched voice. 

The baby looks at her some more, eyebrows furrowed. 

She’s gorgeous, Tobin thinks. Smooth medium brown skin, short curly hair pulled into two little puff balls on her head. She’s the cutest thing Tobin has ever seen. 

“You’re adorable!” 

The pout goes away, but the look of confusion remains. 

Tobin bounces her a little on her hip. “I like your hair,” she adds. 

As if she understands, the baby reaches out and grabs a fistful of Tobin’s hair. 

And then she tugs. 

“Ow! Ow ow ow!” Tobin’s trying not to yell, trying not to upset the baby as her head is yanked to the side and her hand instantly comes up to detangle a small fist from her hair. 

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Here let me help,” Christen says, her hands warm as they brush against Tobin’s arm, working deftly to uncurl tiny fingers from strands of hair. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” Tobin assures her as her hair is freed and then Christen’s eyes meet hers, her smile a little crooked, warming her from the inside out. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Christen echoes. “Here, I can take her back now. Thanks for holding her.” 

“Sure. Um...who is she?”

Christen’s nose wrinkles adorably as she takes the baby back from Tobin and replies, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I just dumped a kid on you and didn’t even tell you her name! This is Eva, my cousin’s daughter!”

“Nice to meet you, Eva,” Tobin says to the baby in as serious a voice as she can muster. 

Eva replies with a noise that sounds vaguely like “Ng.”

“She’s adorable.”

“She is,” Christen agrees. “You think you want kids someday?”

Tobin chokes. On air. Badly. 

She’s doubled over in a second, trying to stop coughing, and Christen’s worried voice is asking, “Oh my God, are you okay?” and she’s trying to nod, trying to get a handle on herself, trying to BREATHE. 

She manages it. After a long minute. 

“Sorry, what?” she croaks, and Christen gives her this smile that has a hint of smirk, like maybe she knows the exact thought that made Tobin choke, as she repeats, “Do you think you want kids someday?”

Tobin swallows hard. “Um, I don’t -” She doesn’t. She doesn’t! “Maybe. Someday. Having a partner helps. Couldn’t do it alone.”

“Have anyone in mind?” Christen asks, and this time the smirk is firmer on her lips. 

She could lean into it. She could flirt. She could tease.

She takes a step back, her cheeks flushed, feeling incredibly self-conscious, rubbing the back of her neck as she mumbles, “No, not really.” 

She doesn’t want it to be a lie but the way that the flicker of disappointment on Christen’s face sends a flood of warmth through her tells her that it is. 

  
  


The first day of the maze is swamped. It’s so much busier than Tobin expects. Christen texts her ticket sales updates throughout the afternoon and by 6 p.m. she sends one that reads, “FIRST DAY SALES RECORD!!!!” 

Tobin grins before she bursts out at the next group in her lighthouse keeper outfit, face painted ghostly white, pop-out eye glasses bouncing at her cheeks. 

She gets four shrieks, two high fives (one from a dad and one from a teenage girl), and one little girl saying, “Those aren’t her real eyes, Stanley,” in the most adorably condescending voice to her little brother who is cowering behind her. 

She shoots the little girl a wink. 

It’s —

Fun. 

It’s more fun than she’d anticipated. 

It’s the first time she’s actually felt like part of the community. She’s gotten a surprising number of thank yous that she hadn’t anticipated at all, and when she mentions that to Christen when they close up for the night Christen beams at her, smacks her lightly on the arm and says, “See? I told you this would be the best one ever!”

  
  


Tobin takes an afternoon off of the Halloween maze. She goes to the top of the lighthouse and she looks out at the view. It’s a clear, sunny day and the air is crisp and she can see for miles out to see. The trees on the shoreline are painted in rich yellows, oranges, and reds. It’s stunning. It’s the perfect scene, laid out beneath her, but when she goes to sketch what she wants to paint it’s not what she sees before her that ends up on the canvas. 

It’s high cheekbones and a perfect smile. It’s eyes that she can’t get just right, that she can’t seem to mix quite the right green for when the time comes to put paint to canvas. 

And she shouldn’t. She can’t. The whole point is to get away, to spend some time with herself today. She needs to —

She needs to stop. She needs to stop entertaining the idea that things might— That she might—

Except for that she already is. 

She’s already thinking that maybe it would be okay to invite her over, invite her in (to the lighthouse, to her life). 

But when she opens herself up...IF she opens herself up, it’s—

It’s been a while, but she knows what happened last time. She tries not to think about it, but she knows all the same, can still feel the ache in her chest some nights. 

And she doesn’t still Love her. She doesn’t. That much she is sure of. But Lydia had been a part of her life. 

And the betrayal. 

She knows she hasn’t dealt with it. Not really. She knows that maybe someday she’ll have to talk about it. 

And she knows that Christen isn’t Lydia. 

Still —

She can’t get the eyes right. She adds a bit more yellow, then a bit more blue, then some white, but it’s —

She’s pulling out her phone to text before she can think better of it. She pulls out her phone and she opens the text chain with Christen and she types out the invitation. Her thumb hovers over the send button. And then she presses it and shoves her phone back into her pocket. 

Her heart is racing and her hand is shaking when she goes to pick her paintbrush back up. 

It’s not even like she’d asked her on a date. She asked her to hang out. That was all. 

But it’s —

It feels like —

Christen has done all the asking so far. And now it’s reciprocated. Now it’s invited. 

Tobin can’t finish the painting. She shoves it back into her studio, turned so that it’s facing the wall and she goes for a hike along the cliffs instead, away from the noise of the maze and the presence of Christen. 

  
  


They have coffee. Friends have coffee. 

Friends can briefly wonder what it might be like to kiss each other. 

They probably don’t so often paint spontaneous portraits of each other, but nobody needs to know about that. 

They have coffee and they fall into easy conversation and Tobin smiles back every time that Christen smiles at her. She can’t help it. 

She wants coffee to last. She wants the afternoon to last. She wants —

Fuck. 

“Want to go for a walk?” Christen invites. 

“Sure.”

  
  


Somehow they end up on a path that Christen’s not that familiar with. It’s a little narrow, through the woods with tree roots making it bumpy at times and Christen trips more than once, laughing at herself each time. 

(And Tobin catches her. Every time. She does it without thinking until Christen flashes her a grin and says, “My hero!” after the fourth time it happens.)

Tobin knows this path well. It’s good for quiet walks, good for not getting interrupted or having to stop and make polite conversation with people. So they walk and they talk and it feels...electric. 

Tobin wants to pretend it’s not there, but she can’t stop herself from glancing sidelong at Christen, from catching her looking back. She can’t stop herself from feeling a thrill every time their arms brush against each other. She can’t stop the way it feels like they’re heading for something that is altogether different than the end of the trail. 

By the time they reach the end, Tobin feels like she can’t quite catch her breath, and when Christen turns to her, her smile shy and says, “Hey, so, I was wondering if maybe on Halloween you’d like to...try out the maze with me? Before we take it down. After we close for the night? Just…” She pauses, clears her throat, and Tobin doesn’t dare move. “Just the two of us?”

No. 

“Like a date?”

She wants to slap her hand over her mouth. She wants to bury her head in the leaves. She wants to take the words back as they dangle in the air between them, Christen’s cheeks flushed pink as she rubs her gloved hands together against the chill in the fall day. 

“It-it doesn’t have to be. It can just — I know you haven’t really dated since you got to town and I don’t even know if you — There’s no pressure, I just really like spending time with you and seeing you get more involved has been — No. Just —”

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date.” 

No. 

But Christen is beaming at her and her heart is racing in her chest and suddenly she’s really, REALLY looking forward to Halloween. 

So maybe yes, too. 

  
  


“Did Mom make you call?” 

“Is it that obvious?” Jeff’s voice rings out on the other end of the line. 

“You don’t ask stupid questions like that. She always uses you when she really wants to get information,” Tobin points out. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Tobin shrugs even though she knows that her brother can’t see it. “What’s she really want to know?”

“She wants to know about Christen. Probably if she’s your girlfriend or just your friend,” Jeff admits. 

Tobin sighs. Why couldn’t he have called yesterday? Why couldn’t he have called any day but when they have a single date scheduled for two weeks away still. 

“She’s a friend.” It’s not a lie. They don’t have any other label that fits. (She ignores the “yet” that her mind adds on to the end of that thought.) “Her family does this halloween maze every year and this year they’re doing it by the lighthouse, so tell Mom I’m being plenty social and she can stop sending you guys to check on me for her.”

Jeff laughs. “Okay, okay. But, for the record, I’m really glad to hear that too. I know things went bad with Lydia, and I KNOW you haven’t told us everything that happened there, even if Perry and Katie and Mom think you have, but — People are good, you know?”

Tobin starts to say, “If you say so.” A few weeks ago she would have said it and meant it. Today she stops herself halfway through, Christen’s smile shining in her mind. “Yeah. I guess some of them are okay. Not, like, annoying little brothers or anything…”

“Hey!” Jeff protests through a laugh and Tobin is chuckling too. “Oh, Mom wants you to come home for Christmas, too. I’m supposed to bring up some emotional plea or something.”

Tobin groans. 

“How about I just tell you it would be good to see you,” Jeff offers. 

“Yeah, I know, but the —”

“Lighthouse. We know. It’s always your excuse, Tobs. But isn’t there someone who can watch it for you? Just for a few days?” 

Tobin sighs heavily. “I’ll look into it.”

“That’s what you said last year,” Jeff points out. 

“Okay, but —”

“And at Easter. And for Dad’s 65th birthday bash. And —”

“I get the point, Jeff!”

“I’m just saying, one holiday at home probably wouldn’t kill you, you know?” 

“Maybe,” Tobin mutters. “I really will look into it.” 

“Thanks. Besides, it’ll be so nice to kick your ass at ping pong.” 

“In your dreams, loser!”

  
  


Halloween day they ramp up the spookiness. They get up early to spread extra spiderwebs throughout the maze. Papa Press reveals his tower of spooky faces that he has been carving into pumpkins. Glow in the dark ghosts, glowing eyes, and a few slimy jumpscares get added as well. Today is the day people come if they want to get scared. 

It’s not the spookiness that has Tobin’s heart racing, though. 

It’s the shy smile that Christen shoots her first thing as she hands her a to-go cup of coffee. It’s the offered, “I’m really looking forward to tonight.” It’s the way her fingers linger on Tobin’s and there’s a moment between them where Tobin swears she can feel electricity sparking in the air. 

It feels dangerous. 

She puts on her costume and her makeup. She takes extra time spraying the glow-in-the-dark hair color through her hair. It makes it stiffer which allows her, with a bit of hairspray, to style it sticking straight out the back of her head like it’s being blown back by the wind. Channing helps her add a gory cut to her face, a new touch, a surprise for even Christen, and then Channing has the idea to stick some of the fall leaves into the hair as well as if a storm had blown them there. The touch is perfect and Tobin grins as she looks in the mirror. 

She’s liked the maze. She’s liked her involvement. 

It’s weird, though. Before she was a mystery and now when she heads into town the kids call after her joyfully, “Hi Lighthouse Keeper!” Grown ups greet her with a cheerful, “Hi Tobin!” or a “Great scare last night! I jumped a mile!” It feels —

It’s almost like she actually belongs. 

And she’s learned names, too. Anyone who came along and contributed something to the maze was promptly dragged to be introduced to Tobin by Christen, her eyes so bright and expectant that Tobin had had no choice but to warmly greet them. (And maybe melt a little at how Christen seemed to beam at having made the introduction.)

  
  


The night seems to drag on, despite the crowds of visitors. 

When the people nearby are too much she takes breaks in the lighthouse, uttering a ghostly wail from the top while her eyes scan the maze for Christen. 

She doesn’t see her, of course. 

As the church in town tolls out eleven chimes, echoing around through the slight fog that has descended, Tobin feels her heart rate start to get out of control. 

She’s been on dates before. 

Not with Christen but with other pretty girls. But Tobin doesn’t remember ever being this nervous for one. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since she’s been on one. Maybe it’s because she’s been waiting two weeks for it to come to fruition. Maybe it’s because Christen is the first one since Lydia. 

(Or maybe it’s just because it’s Christen.)

Regardless, Tobin has half a mind to text Christen and call the whole thing off. It wouldn’t really be too big of a lie to say she’s suddenly not feeling well. She feels queasy, a little unsteady on her feet, and she’s not 100% convinced that she’s not actually having a heart attack. 

But then Christen is walking towards her with a shy smile, hair straightened and down, fake blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth, white fangs standing out against dark red lipstick, green eyes outlined in heavy black eyeliner, black cape billowing behind her revealing her velvety dark red dress with black lace trim that hugs her body just so…

Tobin’s seen her in her costume before, but in this moment she can barely breathe. She’s the most stunning vampire Tobin has ever seen. 

And then she’s mumbling an adorable, “Hi,” with a small wave, and any hint of haunting vanishes along with any thoughts Tobin had of cancelling. 

“Wow,” she breathes out in reply. She feels her cheeks burn as she says it. She wonders if her makeup will cover it up for her. “I mean, hi. You look - Did you do the makeup different today?” 

Christen glances down then back up and Tobin feels the weight of her gaze, feels like she’s trapped in it. “Um, yeah, just a little. I’m not the only one though,” she replies, stepping forward, reaching out, and then her fingers are trailing, ever-so-lightly so as not to disturb the makeup, over the cut painted onto her cheek. 

Tobin feels the skin beneath the touch tingle and grow warm and she thinks, with a small smile, that Christen is so bold. Not in a bad way. In a way maybe she needs in her life. 

“Yeah, Channing helped,” Tobin murmurs. 

“Oh, I see. Getting buddy, buddy with my sister, huh?” Christen teases and Tobin blushes harder. 

“I’m glad, you know,” Christen adds, her voice thoughtful as her hand drops back to her side. “It’s nice to see you out and about in town more.”

Tobin swallows hard, thinks of the joy she finds in solitude. Then again, the past month hasn’t been unpleasant. It’s just been different. 

“Maybe it’s just nice to see you more in general,” Christen adds, biting her lip then flinching as the fake fang digs in further than she expects. 

Tobin doesn’t know what to say. She feels hotter by the second and Christen is standing before her saying these things and looking so fucking attractive, and Tobin —

Fuck, Tobin is too gay for this. 

Her heart is going to beat right out of her chest if they don’t start doing something or moving somewhere. 

“So, should we do the maze?” she asks. 

And maybe it’s her imagination, but she thinks she sees Christen’s face fall a little bit. 

“Yeah. Yep! Are you ready to be scared? I asked my family to switch it up a bit for us,” Christen admits. “Just so that we can get the full effect.”

“Is now a bad time to admit that I don’t actually like to be scared, then?” Tobin asks a little nervously. 

But then Christen is bold again. She takes Tobin’s hand in hers, and it’s so very warm despite the chill in the late fall air, and she smiles as she says, “Good thing you’ve got me to see you through this then.”

  
  


She full-on screams. High-pitched, taking a step back, clenching her eyes closed, and squeezing the life out of Christen’s hand screams. 

Every. Single. Jump scare. 

Every time, Christen giggles. 

Christen who only gasps when her dad in full werewolf-costume jumps out from behind a scarecrow. Christen whose eyes are wide in glee as the tower of jack-o-lanterns tumbles towards them, chasing them down a different path of the maze. Christen who pulls Tobin in closer when Tyler starts to follow them in her zombie costume, complete with long moans and dragging foot. All of it is made even creepier by the thickening fog, cloaking anything too far ahead cloaked in an eerie white darkness.

Tobin is so relieved to make it all the way through, she almost doesn’t notice that she’s still holding Christen’s hand. Even though they’re out. Even though there are no more scares coming. 

Christen’s giggling more. “Are you okay?”

Tobin reaches down and grabs a handful of fallen leaves on the ground, wet with condensation from the fog, and tosses them up at her. 

Christen laughs and dances away, their hands breaking apart, and that’s when Tobin notices. 

She’s cold, instantly, eager to have Christen’s hand back in her own. 

She’s —

“I had fun.”

It’s the truth. It’s the most surprising thing she’s thought all night, but it’s the truth. Because with Christen beside her, despite the scares and her racing heart, she enjoyed it. She wants more of it. 

Not the maze, exactly, but Christen. She wants —

“I have hot chocolate. In the lighthouse.”

Christen looks at her sideways, tilts her head a little as if she’s considering the implied offer. “I love hot chocolate,” she replies, and then she’s reaching out her hand towards Tobin again. 

  
  


It feels good to wash off the makeup. Christen helps pluck the leaves out of her hair, but there’s nothing to be done about the amount of hairspray and temporary hair dye short of a shower. “Do you mind if I…?” she gestures towards the bathroom and Christen shakes her head.

“Only if I can wash this makeup off too and borrow some clothes.”

“Clothes swapping on date one?” Tobin teases, then feels her cheeks flush with her own forwardness. 

“Actually, we covered that in date zero,” Christen replies with a grin that seems to make the whole space brighter, even with the fake blood still painted on her chin. 

“Date zero?” 

“The storm,” Christen explains, and now Tobin’s cheeks are flushing for a whole new reason. 

Christen liked her then? Like...date liked her? 

“I’ll go get you some clothes. Go ahead and wash up.” 

  
  


Somehow Christen is no less breathtaking in one of Tobin’s hoodies and a pair of sweatpants without a stitch of makeup on than she had been dressed up in her elegant vampire costume. 

Tobin steps out of the bathroom, pulling a hoodie down over the plain, white t-shirt she’d tossed on and her breath catches in her throat, seeing Christen pouring out hot chocolate into two mugs. 

She looks —

“Sorry,” she mumbles shyly. “I hope you don’t mind. I remembered where you kept the pot and the mugs, so I just thought I’d —”

“There’s whipped cream in the fridge,” Tobin offers, moving quickly to it instead of standing there staring at the beautiful woman who seems so at home in her space. 

They sit down on the couch, cupping their mugs of hot chocolate. Tobin giggles as Christen takes a sip and gets whipped cream on her nose. 

“You’ve got a little…” She gestures and Christen brushes it away with a small smile. 

“Thank you, Tobin. For...for all of it. For letting us do the maze here. For being an active part of it. For...agreeing to go on a date with me.”

Tobin’s eyes go wide and she reaches across the couch to put her hand on Christen’s knee before she can think better of it. “Why wouldn’t I agree to that?”

Christen shrugs and looks into her hot chocolate. “Because you never did. You were always this big mystery in town and you never looked at anyone twice, and then I thought maybe that you’d looked at me twice and...God, this sounds so stupid, but I’ve kind of had a crush on you since you moved here.”

Tobin sits up a little straighter, her heart racing a little faster. “You-you have?” 

Christen glances up shyly through long lashes with those stunning eyes the color of the sea, and Tobin feels something low in her stomach jump. 

“I know I didn’t even know you, but you were so cute, and then you started talking to me at work while you waited for your order, and then you started staying and I thought maybe - And then I got to know you and you’re — Anyway, God, this is way too much of an admission for a first date.” She laughs, brushes her hair behind her ear. 

Tobin knows the move well.

She’s hiding. She’s embarrassed. 

“I started staying because you were cute.” The truth slips out. One truth for another. One overshare for another. She pulls her hand back to her own lap, feels the way it shakes there. “But Chris —”

Christen’s eyes meet hers again and, God, if she could just stop looking at her like THAT. If she could just stop making Tobin feel like —

She needs to get the words out. 

“I need to go slow. I’m not looking to jump headfirst into something serious. I don’t — I didn’t invite you in to — Can we just —”

Christen’s eyes go wide as she realizes what Tobin’s trying to say. “Oh! Oh. No. I don’t — I’m not a fuck on the first date kind of girl,” Christen assures her, and somehow the curse word falling from her lips is both sexy and amusing, so Tobin giggles. 

She feels the tremor in her hand stop. “Okay.” 

“We don’t...We don’t have to go on another date, if you don’t want,” Christen offers a moment later. 

“No! I mean, I want. I REALLY want. I just —” She doesn’t want to get into it. She doesn’t want to bring up the past. Not tonight. Not when she’s been having such a wonderful time. “I really want to. If you want to.”

“I want to!” Christen assures her quickly. 

Tobin grins and sits back, bringing up her mug and taking a long sip. “Good,” she murmurs into the whipped cream. 

Christen beams back at her. “Good.”

  
  


She walks her back to the edge of town. The fog is heavy and Tobin knows this path better than she does. It’s not well lit. 

(And maybe she’s just looking for an excuse, looking for a little extra time at Christen’s side.)

Christen insists she doesn’t need to be walked to her door, but she accepts Tobin’s arm as they head down the dark path in the fog. 

It feels almost like magic, the way the fog envelopes them, the way the world feels quiet and still, the way a new patch of it appears out of nowhere, their footsteps solid on the ground, trusting it will continue to be there with each step. 

It’s a little eerie, too. Especially when decorations left up from the Haunted Hayride, to be cleared away tomorrow, loom in from time to time. 

This time, though, Tobin doesn’t scream, and doesn’t jump. And the one that really surprises both of them sees Christen grabbing at her waist, pulling her in tighter, and Tobin is met with nothing but warmth and the scent of Christen. 

“You okay?” Tobin asks, and Christen nods, sheepishly, her eyes searching Tobin’s face for a moment before they walk on. 

Christen keeps her hand steadily on Tobin’s arm, and then the streetlights of the town appear out of the darkness, illuminating the fog in a warm glow. 

Tobin walks her onto the sidewalk under the streetlight. “You’re sure you can make it the rest of the way?”

“Tobin, the town is small and I’ve lived here forever. Are YOU sure you can make it back to the lighthouse without, like, tripping horribly?”

Tobin laughs. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

Christen nods. “Text when you get home anyway? Just so I know?” 

Tobin grins. “Okay. You too, though.”

“Deal,” Christen agrees. 

Her hand is still wrapped around Tobin’s arm and Tobin brings up a hand to rest over it. She’s not ready for goodbye, but she’s not ready for more either. 

She just wants to freeze this moment, the two of them, here, wrapped up in the fog under the streetlight. 

“You’re fun. I mean, you’re a fun person to be around. I...I like spending time with you.”

Christen grins and there’s a hint of a smirk in it, though her eyes glance shyly at Tobin. “Yeah? I kinda hoped so when you agreed to the date.”

Tobin lets out a low chuckle. There’s something stirring low inside her an a warmth flooding through her chest and she —

Christen leans in, pausing a breath away from Tobin’s face, and then presses her lips to Tobin’s cheek. She lingers and Tobin doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but feel, her eyes fluttering shut. 

And then Christen pulls away and says, “Goodnight, Tobin Heath, Haunted Lighthouse Keeper extraordinaire,” as she steps backwards, away from Tobin, finally dropping her arm. 

Tobin opens her eyes and smiles. “Goodnight, Christen Press, the sexiest vampire ever.” 

Christen’s eyes go wide just for a moment as she steps back again. “You think I’m sexy?”

It’s said half teasing and half surprised. 

Tobin feels her cheeks flush in embarrassment at the unintentional admission, but for once she rolls with it. “Very,” she confirms. 

Christen beams at her as she takes another step back and gives a little wave. “Good to know,” she says before she turns and walks away with a little bounce in her step. 

Tobin watches until the fog swallows her and she can’t see Christen anymore. 

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. 

“Okay,” she murmurs to herself. “Okay, that was...good. That was good.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin grows more comfortable with Christen and deals with a whole lot of feelings around the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Merry Christmas! I was hoping to get this update out for people and idk if it went exactly the way I expected it to and there may still be some lingering Christmas content in the next update, but I'm just happy that I was able to write this. 
> 
> This chapter is for blake0tyler. 
> 
> Wishing everyone a happy and healthy holiday season! xx

“Please, Tobs! Come on. Just ONE holiday! Will it kill you to come home?” 

Tobin doesn’t answer. She stares out at the waves, ignoring the chill in the air. 

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. She can hear the disappointment from Katie before she even starts talking. “It would really make Mom happy, you know.”

“I have a job to do, you know.”

“Right, and no friends or coworkers to cover for you. Of course. Can’t possibly rely on someone else. It’s always just Tobin. Tobin to save the world, right?” 

It’s not fair. That’s not what it is at all. It’s not worth arguing though. “Actually, I have a friend over right now, and I’m being quite rude. I’ll think about coming home, Katie. Bye!” 

She hangs up before Katie can reply and turns to find Christen raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Using me as an excuse, huh?” 

Tobin flushes. She knew she shouldn’t have taken the call, but it was the third time Katie had called and she knew that if she didn’t answer her family would have worried. “Sorry,” Tobin mumbles.

Christen smirks and shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

They’d been on three official dates so far. 

Three AMAZING dates. 

It had been so long since Tobin hadn’t felt self-conscious around someone, since she’d felt comfortable and the conversation had simply flowed, but there was something about Christen —

There was no judgment ever. There was this open sincerity to her that Tobin couldn’t help but find appealing. And she didn’t seem to expect fancy. It was okay with her if they just had quiet dinners together, if they cozied up with some hot chocolate or went for a hike, bundled up as the weather turned colder. 

And here Christen is, in her space, again, and she almost feels used to it. She wants her here, doesn’t want her to leave. 

And yet —

They haven’t kissed yet. 

Not that Tobin doesn’t want to. She does. GOD, she does. She wants to kiss her and pin her to her couch and run her fingers over her skin and —

But she hasn’t. She’s not sure she can. She’s...Christen is…

Tobin shakes her head, and she realizes that Christen is giving her a quizzical look, head tilted to the side slightly. She’s been lost in thought, not saying anything. She’s made it weird. 

“Sorry, I, uh, I was just…”

Christen grins. “You’re cute.” 

Tobin’s cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment. 

“So what was that about?”

Tobin shakes her head. She doesn’t want to drag Christen into her family drama. She doesn’t want her to ask too many questions about why she’s so loathe to go home, how she ended up all alone working in a lighthouse anyway. 

(She doesn’t want Christen to know just how easy she is to leave. Not yet.)

But Christen stands, takes her hands, pulls her in closer. “You can tell me, you know. I don’t mind. It was kind of nice to hear other sisters bickering like I do with mine sometimes,” she adds with a chuckle. “Promise not to judge.”

There’s something about the way that Christen draws her in, wraps her arms around her, so familiar, so comforting, that makes Tobin want to share. 

“She just wants me to come home for Christmas. My mom does, too. Or really it’s my mom that wants me home, and she keeps having my siblings call to try to guilt me or entice me into coming home. Like I don’t have a job to do here.”

Christen steps back and looks at Tobin with a contemplative frown. “You never go home for Christmas?” 

Tobin shakes her head. She can feel a blush starting to form on her cheeks. “I have a job to do. It doesn’t really take holidays.”

“But couldn’t someone else watch the light for you? It’s all automated for the most part, right?”

“But if there’s a problem...” Tobin counters, stepping away, out of Christen’s arms. “Besides, everyone wants Christmas off. I’m okay working. Especially if it means that other people get to come home safe to their families.”

“But don’t you miss yours?” Christen prods. “Sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t judge, and I don’t mean to. It’s just hard for me to imagine not spending Christmas with my family.”

Tobin shrugs, feeling self-conscious. “I mean, I do, but also they drive me crazy, and I like my life here.”

Christen nods. “So you’re not going to see family for Thanksgiving either?”

Tobin shakes her head. 

Christen seems to think for a long moment. “Well, then you’re coming to my house for Thanksgiving.” 

“I’m what?”

“You’re coming to my house. The lighthouse will be fine for a few hours without you and if there’s a storm rolling in or something, well...we’ll bring Thanksgiving to you!” 

Tobin can’t help but laugh at the idea of Christen’s family all squeezing into the lighthouse for Thanksgiving dinner. “Christen, honestly, it’s fine. I don’t think we’d all fit in here.”

“You should get a proper Thanksgiving, Tobin. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Tobin swallows hard around the lump of emotion that has welled up in her throat. Christen looks so determined, so appalled at the idea that she might spend the holidays alone. She’s not prying into Tobin’s awkwardness, into the reasons she doesn’t want to go. She’s accepting her at her word. But she’s also got her mind set, that’s plain to see. 

“Please?” Christen adds. 

Tobin swallows nervously again. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. If you’re sure your parents won’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? They love you!”

Tobin doesn’t say that she highly doubts that. They don’t know her that well, after all. Sure she’s met them all setting up the maze, but it wasn’t like they had heart to hearts out amongst the hay bales. And now that she’s dating Christen —

Not that they’ve even done anything that parents might approve of, but Tobin finds it hard to believe that they’ll be thrilled to have her along. 

“Just check with them, please?” 

“I will, but I’m telling you, it’ll be fine. Now, I believe you promised me a walk along the shoreline?” 

Tobin grins. “I suppose I did.” 

  
  


The cliffs are sheer and the rocks below are jagged, but the views are incomparable apart from maybe those from the top of the lighthouse. Beyond that, Tobin has something special in mind: a secret she’s discovered that she’s fairly certain isn’t well-known, even for those that were born and raised here. 

“Tobin, where are you taking me?” Christen laughs as she balances along behind Tobin, hand gripping hers tightly. 

“You’ll see!” Tobin calls back. There’s a break in the sheer cliff-face another 500 yards up. There’s a narrow opening that will take them lower, and then a bit of rock hopping and they’ll be at the entrance. 

Tobin’s used to this path, used to these rocks, used to the way that they’re a bit slick from the mist off of the sea, but she knows that Christen’s not, so she keeps her hand solidly in hers. 

(And if maybe it means that they have to touch for this entire excursion, well, she’s not about to complain about that.)

“Tobin!” Christen protests as they carry on a ways. “Give me a hint?”

“You’ll love it,” Tobin promises, hoping that that’s not a lie, that Christen will be able to see the beauty in it just like she can, that she’ll appreciate the coolness of the space. 

She’s lucky for the dose of nice warm weather for mid-November. It means that the rocks are as dry as they get and the sea is calm today. 

Christen grips Tobin’s hand a little tighter, but follows along. 

When Tobin finds the appropriate gap and heads down the cliff, Christen gasps. 

“Tobin, you’re going to get us killed!” 

Tobin chuckles. “I’m not. It’s fine. See? There’s a ledge here.” She shows her slowly, carefully, where to put her feet, where the safe holds are, where the widest parts are. 

Christen yelps when a rock slips beneath her feet, but Tobin’s right there, hands firm around her waist, keeping her secure. 

She knows the moment that Christen sees it. She can hear the gasp, the little murmuring of awe, the way her footsteps falter for a moment. 

“Has this always been here?” Christen asks, and Tobin can’t help but shoot her a grin over her shoulder. 

“For centuries probably,” Tobin replies. “But it’s only really visible at low tide.” 

“Wow,” Christen breathes out. 

Tobin helps her from rock to rock, their steps trickier now that the waves are lapping at the base of the rocks they’re on, splashing them from time to time. At high tide they’ll be nearly fully covered and there are a host of limpets that have made their home there, marking the line that gets submerged. 

Tobin helps Christen balance, helps her make the larger leaps, and then they’re there, at the mouth of the small cave. 

“This is so cool! I had no idea!” Christen murmurs, her eyes wide as she takes it in. 

Tobin can’t help but watch her, watch how her hair frizzes up a bit from the sea surf, how her curls bounce around her face as she turns from side to side trying to observe all of it at once, how her mouth parts into a silent O of awe. 

“I love it. I haven’t explored too deep. It gets narrow pretty quickly on back in there, but it’s so cool!” 

Their footsteps echo as they splash through small pools, pulling out their phones to use as flashlights to cast light on the shadows. Moss grows higher on the walls and algae and sea rocks litter the ground, making it uneven and their going slow. The retreating tide had left small pools of crabs and small fish in its wake and Christen stops and examines each one. 

Tobin loves it. She loves watching Christen take it all in, loves knowing that Christen is as excited about this place as she is, that Christen appreciates what she’s sharing with her. She can’t stop herself from smiling as they make their way deeper in, the sunlight offering less visibility of the rich brown rock of the cave here. 

They can make out lines on the cave wall marking the different heights of the water over time. The air is wet and a little musty, but Tobin doesn’t mind because Christen is excited by the discovery of some sea stars in another pool. They don’t have too long here, Tobin knows. The tide comes in far too quickly to linger too long, but she’s happy to share it while she can. 

“God, Tobin, this is amazing!” Christen breathes out, straightening from where she’d been crouching beside a pool, gazing at its inhabitants. She reaches out and takes Tobin’s hand in hers, and Tobin feels warmth spread through her from the touch. Christen steps closer, pulls Tobin in. “Thank you. For sharing this place with me. I know —” She hesitates and Tobin watches her eyes flick between her eyes, as if gauging whether or not she should really finish that sentence. “I know you’re a private person. I know it’s not easy for you to let people in, and that you’re sharing this place with me — I mean I didn’t even know it was here. I bet not a lot of people from town do, but you showed me, and I —”

Christen’s lips are soft and warm, and for a moment Tobin doesn’t respond, she just feels. 

But then Christen is pulling away, and Tobin catches her elbow, holds her in close, and kisses her back. 

It’s soft and tentative, and too soon they’re breaking apart, shy giggles on their lips. 

“Sorry. I just couldn’t not do that any longer,” Christen admits, and Tobin’s eyes go wide. 

“You couldn’t — You’ve wanted to —”

Christen offers her a shy smile. “Since before I brought you cheese and baguette during the storm,” she confesses. 

Tobin’s chest feels tight and her heart feels like it’s soaring so she closes the gap between them again, kisses Christen a little harder because she feels like she has permission to. When they break apart this time it’s a little more breathless. 

Christen’s outline is illuminated by the light from the entrance of the cave, her eyes shining in the dark, and Tobin half wishes that they could stay here forever, in this moment, away from the prying eyes of family and the people from town, away from pasts and futures, just here and now, the two of them together. 

She hears a telltale splash from the entrance, though, and she knows their time is up. “We should go before the tide comes in,” she whispers. 

Christen smiles, her breath hot on Tobin’s cheek. “Lead the way, Tobs.” 

  
  


They take things slow. It’s been seven dates and they’ve only kissed, and, for the most part, Tobin is just fine with that. It’s not that her body doesn’t occasionally ache for more, but her mind knows better. She’s already falling too hard, too fast. She can feel it. She doesn’t want to open herself up to that kind of heartache. Not again. No, slow is better. 

Besides, there’s no better feeling in the world than the way that Christen’s lips feel against hers, the taste of Christen’s tongue as it swipes into her mouth, the brush of the pad of Christen’s thumb as it runs over her lower lip. Christen is an amazing kisser and Tobin feels quite sure that if she never got to do anything but this for all eternity, she’d die a happy woman. 

That does not mean, however, that Tobin is excited about Thanksgiving dinner at Christen’s parents’ house. Setting up a maze on her own property with them before she and Christen were dating was one thing. Showing up for a major holiday dinner at their house now that she’s dating their daughter feels like something else entirely. 

She has a pumpkin pie in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other and a box of chocolates tucked under her arm for good measure when she rings the doorbell on Thanksgiving afternoon. 

Much to her relief, it’s Christen who opens the door to greet her. 

“Hey,” Christen says with a broad smile that serves to take the edge off of Tobin’s worst nerves. “Come on in,” she invites, taking the flowers from Tobin. “These for me?” she asks with a kiss to Tobin’s cheek that leaves her blushing and flushed with heat. 

“Um, no, for your mom actually,” Tobin admits. 

“Oh? No flowers for me?” Christen asks, and Tobin flounders, just for a second, until she catches the cheeky glint in Christen’s eyes and Christen starts to giggle. 

“Is that Tobin?” Christen’s dad’s voice booms around the space, but his smile is warm as he rounds the corner. “Hey! Don’t hang out in the doorway all day! Come on in!” 

She’s swept inside by Christen’s dad’s powerful arm and Christen’s softer touch on her hand, the box of chocolates and the pie both taken away in a blur of sisters and cousins and a bustle of noise. 

The house is full of warm light, good smells, and boisterous laughter. Conversations come at her from all angles and it’s more than a little overwhelming, but Christen keeps her grip on her hand as she takes Tobin around the large living room to meet everyone. 

Tobin holds onto it like a lifeline until she feels herself start to unwind. Nobody makes her the center of attention. Nobody starts to grill her about intentions. Instead, she’s welcomed into the fold, brought into the stories of holidays past, included in the reliving of the grand success that was the Halloween maze this year. It’s fun and welcoming and the whole time Christen is by her side, shooting her smiles, giving her small glances that Tobin can already read as checking that she’s okay. 

The meal is delicious and the conversation flows easily as Tobin finds herself sitting between Christen and Gran Fran, who has a wicked sense of humor. Tobin can’t remember the last time she’s felt this comfortable in such a large group of people. She can’t remember the last time she actually enjoyed being so surrounded by people. 

And then, unexpectedly, she feels the hint of an ache in her chest. There’s something in the way that Stacy smiles at her, offers her seconds, tells her she’ll send her home with leftovers, that makes her think of her mom. It’s not that she doesn’t miss her family. It’s just she doesn’t like what going home might mean. She doesn’t want to risk the questions, the potential run-ins. She doesn’t want to face the truth. 

So she stays here.

But her invite home for Christmas is echoing in her ears along with the pleas of her siblings and it makes her wish, just for a moment, that she really could go. 

“You okay?” she hears Christen murmur in her ear, her breath hot against her cheek. 

Tobin nods, but Christen must not be convinced, because she excuses the both of them, saying that she wants to show Tobin something, and she leads Tobin out of the room. 

Tobin follows willingly: out of the room, up the stairs, past a door, then another, and then Christen is leading her into a relatively small room with pale pink walls and posters of soccer players pinned up. There are pictures lining the large mirror above the dresser and a full-size bed with what looks like a handmade floral quilt on it. 

“This is your room?” Tobin asks, the question coming out in a hoarser voice than she’d expected. She clears her throat and tries to fight the blush she feels crawling up her cheeks. 

“Was,” Christen replies. “Fortunately I live in my own place now.”

Tobin shakes her head. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.” 

Christen smiles at her, squeezes her hand. “Don’t worry. You seemed like you were getting a little overwhelmed downstairs. I know you like your time to yourself. I hope I didn’t bully you into coming today.” 

Tobin shakes her head again. “No. It’s fine. I — I really like your family. They’re wonderful.”

“They’re a lot,” Christen replies. 

“All families can be, but yours is great. Honest.”

Christen smiles shyly at her through those gorgeous long lashes of hers, her sea green eyes paler today than they had been yesterday. “Yeah?” 

Tobin nods, tugs her towards her, kisses her softly. 

“Good,” Christen replies. “Then what’s up?”

“Nothing.” 

Christen steps back and raises an eyebrow at her and Tobin can tell that her white lie isn’t going to work. “It just made me miss my family a little.”

“Oh. Well, actually, I was thinking about that.” Christen shifts her feet slightly and her smile becomes a bit sheepish, so Tobin simply cocks an eyebrow at her and waits for her to continue. “What if I watched the lighthouse for a few days? You could show me how? Leave me instructions? I mean you’ve been showing me some things already.” 

Christen trails off, her eyes searching Tobin’s face. 

“I mean, if you wanted to, of course. And you’d just be a phone call away if I had any questions.”

It feels like a lot all at once: the possibility that she might get to go home, the surprising realization that part of her wants to, the fact that Christen cares enough to offer. 

“You don’t have to decide right now, obviously, but maybe a quick visit would get your family off your back for a bit? And then maybe I wouldn’t have to share you with guilt-trip phone calls?” Christen reaches out for her again, takes her hand, steps closer, eyes dancing with a hint of mischief. 

Tobin grins. “You don’t want to share me?” 

“Why? You got another hot Thanksgiving date I don’t know about?” Christen teases, leaning in so that her breath falls against Tobin’s lips as she talks. 

Tobin can’t resist. She kisses her. “No. Definitely not. I’m all yours.” 

It’s too much of an admission and she realizes it as soon as the words leave her out, sees it in the way that Christen pulls back just a little, eyes wide, but then Christen is pulling her into another kiss, hand tangling into her hair, tongue swiping into her mouth, and she thinks that maybe she’ll just worry about it later. 

  
  


“You can’t just pick the first one we find!” 

Christen laughs. “Why not?” 

“If we’re cutting down our own Christmas tree, we have to find the BEST one,” Tobin points out. 

Christen laughs again. “Tobin Heath, are you secretly a Christmas person?” 

Tobin feels her cheeks flush with warmth and she knows she’s blushing. “I like the lights. And the cheer. And the sense of magic,” she mumbles. 

“Says the person fighting with herself about spending the holiday with family.” 

Tobin rolls her eyes. “Maybe I just want to kiss you under the mistletoe all night instead.”

“All night?” Christen raises her eyebrow, and Tobin feels her blush deepen. 

“I didn’t mean — Not like —”

“Sounds kind of fun, I have to admit,” Christen cuts her off, stepping towards her and pulling her into a kiss. 

Tobin can’t help but smile. And as Christen steps back and the first flakes of the day begin to fall, dotting her head with delicate frozen crystals, Tobin thinks that she wishes she could freeze this moment, this day. 

She soaks it in: the way that the snow already on the ground creates this magical blanket as they traipse through it, the way that somewhere down near the hut where they’ll pay there are Christmas songs floating through the air, reaching them all the way here, the way that Christen’s eyes dance in the fading afternoon light, the way that the snowflakes land in her hair, on her coat, one even coming to rest on her her eyelash before she blinks it away to melt on her cheek, the trees standing tall around them. 

She takes a mental snapshot and thinks that maybe she’ll try to paint it later. Then again, nothing will be able to compare with the natural beauty of the moment. 

“So what should I look for in the perfect Christmas tree, then?” Christen asks. 

“Well, for starters, we should look for one that’s six feet or under or it won’t fit in your living room. 

Christen giggles. “That’s fair.”

“And then it needs to be properly full on all sides. You have to walk all the way around it. Look this one has a bare spot at the back,” Tobin points out. 

Christen nods and they move on, the snow falling in heavy wet clumps around them, settling on the trees as well as on them. 

“What about this one?” Christen asks a little ways on, and Tobin circles it, examining it. 

“The branches are too spread out. It won’t decorate well.” 

Christen laughs again, clearly amused, but she follows Tobin’s lead. 

“Here!” Tobin confidently declares about ten minutes later after a thorough examination of five more trees. 

“Yeah?” Christen asks. 

“Definitely. Perfect top for a star, not too many branches right at the bottom so that it will fit well in a Christmas tree stand, full branches all the way around. It’s perfect.” 

“Would you like to do the honors then, Miss Heath, and make the first cut?” 

Tobin can’t help the way her eyes alight. “Really?”

“Really.” 

  
  


It really is the perfect tree, and Christen comments as much as she steps back after placing the star at the top. 

“Thanks for helping me,” she murmurs, reaching out to wrap her arm around Tobin. 

Tobin pulls her in close. They’re still not rushing, still taking things slow, but moments like this she already knows she’s in too deep. She wants to stay: stay in the moment, stay the night, stay with Christen. It’s too much, but she can’t convince herself to leave. 

“Here, let’s take a picture!” Christen suggests, pulling out her phone and spinning them around so that the lit tree is behind them. She smiles brightly at the camera and for a moment Tobin is so mesmerized by the image of Christen on the screen that she forgets that she’s meant to be smiling for the picture too. 

“Tobin!” Christen urges, giving her a playful little nudge, and Tobin remembers. 

She smiles brightly and Christen takes a picture. And then she presses a kiss to Tobin’s cheek and presses the button again. 

And then the phone gets forgotten, Christen’s hand dropping to her side as Tobin turns to face her, hands coming to rest on Christen’s hips. 

Tobin kisses her softly, but it doesn’t stay soft for long. Not when Christen throws her arms over Tobin’s shoulders and deepens the kiss. Not with the way that her body feels pressed against Tobin. Not when Tobin can’t help the small gasp that escapes her throat when Christen pulls her in closer, bites at her lower lip, tugs just slightly. 

“Fuck,” Tobin gasps. 

Christen’s tongue is back in her mouth in a moment, tasting of peppermint, and her phone is tossed idly to the couch, her hands starting to tangle in Tobin’s hair.

“You said something about making out all night?” Christen murmurs into her mouth, stepping backwards, pulling Tobin with her. 

Tobin can only let out a small moan in response. 

She feels heat pooling low and there’s a now familiar ache in her body to touch, to taste, to feel more. 

She lets her fingers graze up under Christen’s shirt as they fall onto the couch together. She doesn’t trust herself. She doesn’t want to rush this. And maybe they’re going too slow, but they haven’t really been dating that long and there’s so much that Tobin still feels holding her back, so many insecurities that she doesn’t want to voice, doesn’t want to face. 

But then Christen is climbing into her lap, straddling her, hand cupping her face as she kisses her a little deep and a little dirty. 

“Chris,” Tobin moans as she feels Christen bare down on her lap. 

“Fuck, Tobs, you’re so fucking good at kissing,” Christen whines into her mouth, then claims Tobin’s lips as hers once again. 

And Tobin has no choice but to kiss her back, to kiss across her jaw, down her throat, to let her fingers ghost over hints of smooth skin. 

She wants more. She can feel her whole body humming with want. But she’s not ready. Not now. Not before she’s going to go home and face everyone. She needs —

“Sorry,” Christen gasps, climbing off and collapsing beside Tobin. “Sometimes it’s hard not to get carried away with you, but I know we said we’re taking things slow.” 

Tobin nods. She feels the sudden absence of Christen’s weight on her acutely. “I know what you mean. But I’m not — I’m sorry, I —”

“Hey, it’s okay. I...You’re really special, Tobin. I want to do this right. Us, I mean. I don’t mind waiting. You’re worth it.” 

Tobin searches her eyes for a hint of a lie, but she finds none. But Christen doesn’t know — She hasn’t seen. She will. Lydia did. It’s why she — 

She feels something twist unpleasantly in her gut, but she manages a smile and kisses Christen tenderly on the temple. “Thank you.” 

  
  


Christmas comes far too quickly. She flip flops a dozen times about whether she’s making the right decision going home or not. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Christen to run the lighthouse. She does. 

It’s just does she really want to go home? Does she really want to face the barrage of questions that await her? And does she tell her family about Christen? She’s sure they’ll ask. It’s the only name she’s dropped since she moved there. 

“You’ve got the list of warning signals?” 

Christen nods. 

“And you know which button is which?”

“Yes,” Christen replies looking slightly amused. 

“And where the extra fuel for the generator is?”

“Yes. Tobin, there isn’t even supposed to be any bad weather while you’re gone. You’re only going for three days.”

“I know, but you already have to check everything three times a day. I just don’t want to put too much on you.” 

“You’re not putting it on me. I offered,” Christen reminds her. 

Tobin wishes she was staying put, wishes they were heading out for more walks along the shoreline, wishes she was cozied up in front of Christen’s Christmas tree instead of driving to the airport. 

“Thank you,” Tobin murmurs. 

Christen smiles and pulls her in for a quick kiss. “You’d better get going or you’ll miss your flight.” 

Tobin nods, but before she can go, Christen stops her. “Um...I hope this will fit in your suitcase.” Christen digs around in her bag and produces a medium-sized package. “Merry Christmas, Tobs.” 

Tobin can’t help feeling guilty. She hadn’t realized that they —

But she should have. 

“Hold that thought,” she murmurs as an idea strikes her. 

She runs up the stairs, leaving her suitcase by the front door. In her studio she rummages around, wondering where exactly she’d shoved it when she was done painting it. She should have thought of this earlier, really. She doesn’t know why she didn’t. 

And then there it is. 

It’s not perfect. She had wanted —

Well, the paintings never quite look like she wants them to. In her mind’s eye everything is so crisp and clear and on canvas she can never quite make it come out just right. But it’s good. It almost captures the magic of the moment. Not quite, but almost. And it will have to do. 

“Tobin you’re gonna miss your flight!” she hears Christen call up the stairs. 

There’s no time to wrap it. Not properly. She throws a smock around it. 

She’s already apologizing as she heads back down the stairs with the painting in tow. 

“Sorry about the wrapping. I should have thought ahead. I just wasn’t sure if we were — And then the trip has taken up so much of my —”

But Christen takes it eagerly from her hands. “Can I open it now, or do I have to wait?” 

“Do I have to wait?” Tobin asks. 

“Yes,” Christen declares with a grin. 

“Then you do too. Put it under your tree.” 

“In all it’s fancy wrapping,” Christen teases and Tobin can feel a blush forming on her cheeks. “Okay, go on. Seriously. Have a safe trip. Text me when you land.” Christen presses another quick kiss to Tobin’s lips and leaves her with parting words that will linger in her brain the whole flight. 

“I’ll miss you.” 

  
  


Her family is every bit as invasive in their line of questioning as she’d feared, but she’s able to deflect mostly, which isn’t to say that the idea of Tobin having a new girlfriend isn’t a big focus of conversation. At least nobody mentions Lydia. Not even once. 

It’s nice to be home, even if she can’t wait to leave again. She can tell how much her mom especially has missed her and, though she’s sure the guilt trip isn’t intentional, she makes a mental note to try to come home a little more often. 

On Christmas morning, Tobin saves Christen’s present for last. She ignores the teasing of her brother and the curious looks from her sisters and mother and she peels open the paper carefully. 

Inside she finds a new set of oil paints and a new set of brushes. Nice brushes. Expensive brushes. 

There’s a handwritten note, too. 

_ In case you need to escape while you’re home. Merry Christmas! Xoxo _

It’s a little scary how well Christen knows her already. And at the same time it makes her heart swell with joy. 

“Guess your girlfriend gets you,” Katie says. 

Tobin can’t stop smiling as she says, “Yeah. She does.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin comes home and winter can be a magical time, but Tobin's past might not be as behind her as she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. There is a hint of angst this chapter, but also a good dose of fluff. I hope everyone enjoys! Can't wait to see your feedback!

“Tobin!” 

The voice makes Tobin freeze mid-step. She should have prepared herself. She should’ve known it was a possibility. 

But she was home for such a short visit. 

She had thought that maybe —

“Hey! Tobin!”

Tobin closes her eyes, forces a smile upon her lips, turns, and there she is, smiling brightly. 

“Hi, Lydia.” She can’t match Lydia’s enthusiasm. She can barely muster basic politeness. Just seeing her feels like a gut punch. 

“Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!” 

Arms are thrown around her neck and she stands stock-still, every muscle in her body locked by awkwardness and uncertainty. 

“You look great!”

Tobin bites back half a dozen bitter responses, and manages a polite. “Thanks, you too.” 

And, God, she wishes that was a lie. She wishes that Lydia wasn’t standing there with her hair in loose curls and her makeup done up perfectly, and her pea coat looking pristine over her fitted turtleneck that hugs her curves in all the right way. She wishes Lydia’s smile wasn’t so bright and her brown eyes weren’t so familiar, that they didn’t still feel like home to a certain extent. 

And then she remembers the betrayal, the way she hadn’t been enough, the way she hadn’t been able to keep Lydia’s attention, she hadn’t been good enough or fast enough or —

She swallows hard, cuts her thoughts off, waits for Lydia to decide once again that she’s done with her. 

Instead, Lydia steps back and drags her eyes up Tobin’s body slowly. “God, you REALLY look good. I can’t believe you’re here! I thought you were off at some lighthouse up north!”

Tobin clears her throat, shifts her weight, doesn’t meet Lydia’s gaze. “Yeah, I am. I’m just home for a visit.”

“For how long? We should get coffee! Catch up! It’s been too long, don’t you think?” 

And no, Tobin doesn’t think. Tobin thinks it hasn’t been long enough at all. 

“You know Leo was just asking about you the other day. And Cara and Percy miss you too. The group’s different now you’re not here.” 

Now she’s not there. As if Lydia wasn’t the reason she’d left. As if watching all of her friends take her side, not shun her, as if Tobin really was to blame for all of it —

“Um, I’m heading home tomorrow actually. But maybe next time.” 

Never next time, she thinks, but she can’t say it. Can’t turn away, can’t just shove past her. 

There’s still this hold, still this sway that Lydia seems to have over her, even when she’s far away. 

She wants to be home, wants to be back in her lighthouse, brush in hand, waves crashing against the rocks, wind blowing at the shutters. She wants to hunker down in her sweater in front of her fireplace and listen to rain pelting the side of the lighthouse. She wants to check her machines, her light, make sure it’s shining bright into the darkness, guiding ships home. 

She doesn’t want to be here. 

Lydia pouts out her lower lip and Tobin clenches her hand at her side to keep from reaching out. Why is it that even now she wants to soothe her, to make her smile. It’s not — 

She shouldn’t —

“Aw, Tobs, that’s such a bummer.” 

Tobin murmurs a noncommittal, “Yeah.” 

“Well, maybe I’ll come see you sometime. You can show me around your new life!” 

The thought strikes dread into Tobin’s chest, makes her stomach roll like being on a boat in a stormy sea. “Um, maybe.” 

And Lydia laughs, touches her arm like it means nothing, like her touch doesn’t have any effect at all on Tobin, and says, “You always were a quiet one. I always loved that about you.” 

And Tobin thinks, “Not enough.” 

“I should really, um, go. My mom wanted me to pick up a pie for dessert and so —”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I won’t keep you. Say hi to your parents for me!” 

And then Lydia is pressing a kiss into her cheek. It’s quick, but it burns, the feeling of it lasting long after her lips are gone. And Lydia’s breath is hot on her ear as she says, “It really is good to see you, Tobs. I’ve missed you.”

And then she’s gone, walking away, and Tobin is steadying herself on the nearby shop window, gasping for breath, hoping desperately that she’s going to keep down her lunch. 

  
  


Christen’s smile is shy when she gets back, and Tobin freezes in the doorway. Of course she’s here. It’s just that Tobin had kind of expected —

Well, it doesn’t matter. 

Because it IS nice to see her. 

Her body reacts completely differently to Christen’s presence than it had to Lydia’s the day before, and when Christen opens her arms, Tobin willingly steps into the welcoming embrace. And yet —

And yet there’s a tiny tug in her chest, a slight churning in the pit of her stomach, a little voice in the back of her mind saying, “careful,” saying, “you’re not worth it,” saying, “you’ll just get hurt again”. 

“I promise I took good care of her for you,” Christen says as she steps away, a proud smile on her lips. 

Tobin frowns. “Her?” 

“The lighthouse,” Christen explains. “She feels like a her.”

And Tobin laughs, the voice in the back of her mind quieted for a moment. “The most phallic shaped building known to man feels like a her to you?” 

Christen wrinkles her nose in this adorable little way and tilts her head to the side as if she hadn’t considered this previously. “Hmm...Yep!” she replies, and Tobin laughs again. 

It really is nice to see her, to have someone here to welcome her home, to be able to entrust that the lighthouse has been well looked after. “Thank you,” Tobin says. 

“How was it?”

Christen lets her in further, takes her bag, leads her up the stairs after Tobin has kicked off her sneakers. 

“It was mostly nice.”

“Mostly?”

Tobin thinks of Lydia. Christen doesn’t need to know. Christen never needs to know. 

“You know, my mom laid on the guilt trip about how infrequently I come home and stuff like that. Family and noise and chaos. Fun, but also nice to leave.” 

Christen nods, though Tobin gets the distinct impression that Christen doesn’t quite get it. She’s close to her family. She embraces the chaos. 

But before she can focus on that too much, Christen’s stepping towards her, reaching out again. She’s dumped Tobin’s bags on the living room floor and now it’s just her and Tobin, a cozy fire crackling in the fireplace, and Tobin sees the warmth in those clear green eyes, and it —

Well, it stirs something in her. It doesn’t feel like home, but maybe it feels like something better, something new. 

Tobin steps to her again, meets her halfway, and then Christen’s lips are on hers, tender and soft, careful in a way their kiss goodbye hadn’t been. 

“I missed you,” Christen breathes against her lips. 

It feels a like a lot, like the verge of too much. Tobin reminds herself that Christen isn’t Lydia. That words like that mean something different here. 

(She hopes, at least.)

And so she kisses her again, a little deeper, a little needier. 

Until they break apart breathless. 

Christen grins at her. “I’ll take that as you missed me too,” she says. 

And Tobin’s relieved she doesn’t have to say it, doesn’t have to admit it out loud. Right now she’s not sure she can. 

  
  


Christen leaves her to unpack, to settle in, to check on everything, and it’s then that Tobin breathes properly again. She takes her time, puts the clothes that her mother had insisted on washing for her carefully into her drawers, makes some tea, pulls on her favorite sweater, climbs the stairs to the control room, checks everything over, then climbs on up. 

The sea air is cold and damp on her face but she breathes it in like an old friend. The sky is grey overhead and there’s a hint of snow in the air, but she can make out the bare trees, the dark rocks of the coastline, the beach further down around the bay. The grass heading down the hill has turned from green to brown, and only the fir trees heading on up the coast pepper the landscape with shades of green. The sea is choppy today, greenish-blue greys splashing over the rocks. There are a few boats out there, but not many. 

Tobin breathes in the steam from her tea, breathes in the peppermint mingling with the salt from the sea spray, closes her eyes and sighs. She’s alone here, but she’s at peace. Here the weight of the world, the weight of her past, seems far away. Here she feels quite literally above it all. Her troubles are the distant clouds, low on the horizon, far from her lighthouse home. 

A gull cries overhead, confused about the chill in the air. 

“Should’ve gone south,” Tobin tells it.

But she’s glad she’s back north. She’s glad she’s home. 

She’s glad to be back to her life of solitude. 

  
  


Except it isn’t a life of solitude. 

Not really. 

Not anymore. 

And she’s reminded of that the next morning when she’s painting in her studio room and she’s interrupted by a knock on the door. 

She steps back from the canvas, blues and greens streaked along the side of her hand, over her fingers. She’s not always the neatest when she’s painting. She pauses, surprised, and then she makes her way down, palette still in hand, and opens the door. 

Christen is smiling shyly at her once again, and Tobin’s stomach does a little flip at the sight. She’s suddenly self-conscious of the amount of paint she has on her, of the state of her overalls, of the stains on her shirt. “Oh, um, hi,” Tobin mumbles. 

It’s not that she doesn’t want her there. She does.

And that —

It’s a little scary. 

Somehow it feels like running into Lydia set her back weeks to where she can’t quite believe that Christen’s here, that she’s interested, that she wants this. She feels like she’s lost a piece of herself in going home. 

“Is it a bad time?” Christen asks, taking in her appearance. 

But Tobin shakes her head, steps back, and lets her in. “No come on in. I was just —”

“Painting?” Christen guesses with a grin, and Tobin smiles back. There’s something infectious in the way that Christen’s smile crinkles the corner of her eyes, in the way her grin is so wide, so genuine. 

Tobin chuckles. “How’d you guess?” 

Christen shrugs, barely containing her smile as she says, “Just a hunch. I had an inkling.” 

And Tobin leads her up, takes her to the studio, to this space that used to be just hers, and she does something she never does. She shares the unfinished piece. 

Christen studies it for a long moment, and Tobin’s anxiety rises each second that ticks by. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she can’t see what Tobin’s going for. 

And then Christen says, “It makes me think of an angry sea. Like stormy with waves breaking.” 

And Tobin breathes out. “Exactly.” 

Christen grins. “I love it. Moody and beautiful all at once.” 

“Do you want to try?” 

It’s spur of the moment. And she wouldn’t normally offer. She has a vision in her head and it’s hard to share.

But Christen’s eyes light up, and Tobin picks her paintbrush back up, dips the end in the dark blue green she’d mixed most recently and hands the paintbrush over with only a moment of hesitation. 

“You sure?” Christen asks. 

Tobin isn’t, but she nods anyway.

But Christen doesn’t paint. She hovers, the paint brush in her hand, nowhere near touching the canvas. 

“Where should I put it?” 

Tobin shrugs. “Where does it feel like it should go?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Tobin doesn’t want her to mess it up either, but somehow something in her is telling her to let her try, to try to trust. 

“Yes you do. Here.” She steps in behind Christen, presses her front to Christen’s back, slides her hand down Christen’s arm, and takes her hand, guides it until it’s almost touching the canvas. “Feel it. It’s organic. It’s changing. It’s the sea on a stormy day, waves splashing against the shore, the water choppy and loud. Where does this go?” 

She urges Christen’s hand forward more, then feels her own movement take over. 

She drops her hand to Christen’s hip, holds it steady there as she watches over Christen’s shoulder. 

And Christen doesn’t mess it up. She feels and she adds to it in broad strokes. When she does bring the brush away again, there’s a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she takes in the canvas. “How’d I do?” 

Tobin rests her chin on Christen’s shoulder, feels a sense of pride and a sense of awe welling up inside of her. There’s something so intimate in this closeness, in relinquishing control to Christen like this…

She’d never have let Lydia near her art. 

But, then again, Lydia didn’t care about her art. Not really. 

“How do you think you did?”

“I don’t THINK I messed it up.”

Tobin grins. “You didn’t.”

“Phew! Good. Okay, but you take this back before I do, okay?” Christen says, stepping away and handing back the paintbrush. 

Tobin sets it on a towel and puts her palette beside it, then moves back to Christen. She pulls her in, kisses her softly. 

“Sorry if my greeting yesterday was lackluster.”

Christen shakes her head. “It wasn’t. And you seemed tired.” 

“The trip took it out of me.”

Christen kisses her again. “It’s fine. But I’m glad you’re home.” 

And it is. It IS home. 

“Me too.” 

  
  


They spend New Year’s Eve together. Just the two of them. 

Christen’s family is throwing a party, but Christen seems to sense that Tobin isn’t up for that. 

They listen to music and eat too much cheese and drink a little too much wine and when midnight approaches, Tobin leads her up the lighthouse tower, grip firm on her hand as they approach the railing. 

They can hear the shouts of people partying on the beach, oblivious to the winter chill and the threatening snow, driven by alcohol and excitement for the new year. 

And maybe, Tobin thinks, she should take a page out of their book. 

Enough is enough. 

It’s time to leave the past where it is. 

Lydia is in the past, and that’s where she’s going to stay. 

And Christen isn’t Lydia at all. 

As the cries of countdowns begin, carrying over the relatively calm sea up to the lighthouse, Tobin takes Christen’s hands in hers. 

“Three,” she murmurs, lost in eyes that reflect the crescent moon at her. 

“Two,” Christen counts after her, a smile of anticipation on her lips. 

“One,” Tobin finishes. 

“Happy New Year!” they cry as one. 

And as Tobin leans in and claims Christen’s lips, as Christen’s hands leave Tobin’s to slide around her waist, fireworks go off over the ocean, bathing the sky in flashes of reds and blues and greens and golds. 

  
  


They spend a lot of time outdoors despite the weather. Snow falls and covers the land, bathing everything in a quiet blanket of white. So naturally, Christen shows up at her door with a large wooden sled and a mischievous grin. 

“Fancy a ride?” 

Tobin laughs, hesitates for a moment, considers a response that is probably still a tad inappropriate for the current state of their relationship, then says, “Let me grab my coat.” 

  
  


She feels like a kid again, frigid wind whipping past her face, bringing tears to her eyes, arms wrapped tightly around Christen’s waist as she squeals in delight in the front of the sled. They build up speed well with the weight of the two of them and when they hit a slight bump, they catch a little air, landing with a thud that jolts through them and makes them laugh. 

It’s a long trudge back up, but Tobin doesn’t mind it. Not when Christen picks up a snowball and tosses it at her before dashing away laughing, unencumbered by the sled’s tow rope that Tobin had offered to pull. Not when Tobin gets to try to chase after her. 

(Not when Christen lets her catch her, lets her pull her into a kiss that makes her forget all about the cold.)

And slowly, as the afternoon unfolds, more people join. Parents and their kids, teenagers, even a few other grown ups make their way to the hill until there are various well-used tracks heading down back towards town. 

There’s laughter and screaming and snow flying and Tobin can’t seem to wipe the grin off of her face. 

(And then it’s hot chocolate and snuggles and soft kisses and Tobin still can’t stop smiling.)

  
  


They go snowshoeing through the woods, chasing squirrel tracks. The branches of the trees weigh heavily with snow, and Tobin catches Christen unexpectedly with a facefull of it when she pushes past a branch and it snaps back before she can get a proper grip on it. 

She braces for anger, for disappointment, for blame. 

Christen sputters, wipes the snow from her face with heavy blinks and a gloved hand, and then she laughs, giggling, promising retribution with no anger behind it. 

Tobin runs, laughing, free, with Christen on her heels, and when she catches her, they fall into the soft snow together. 

The breeze blows small flakes from the trees above and they fall around them as they laughing in a heap. 

And then —

And then Christen’s eyes are focused and bright, her tongue is darting between her lips, and her laughter stills, her breath hot against Tobin’s face. 

And then they’re kissing, long and hard, surrounded by nothing but snow and trees. 

Christen’s body is firm against hers, bundled as they are against the cold, and her gloved hands press clinging snow to Tobin’s face, but she doesn’t care because Christen’s tongue is sweet in her mouth, her leg is pressing up between Tobin’s. 

Her beanie falls off her head and the snow starts to press into her head, but she pushes up into the kiss eager, lost in the moment. 

Right up until —

“Gotcha!” Christen declares with an eyebrow wiggle and a smug smile. 

“Huh?” 

Before Tobin figures out what she means, Christen sits back and knocks the branch above her which dumps snow right on Tobin. 

And Tobin, once she’s moved past the initial shocking cold, can only laugh. 

  
  


Cody takes them cross-country skiing. Tobin’s on Tyler’s skis and it’s hard going, but when he brings them to the edge of a field, Tobin’s breath catches. 

Below is a sea of evergreens coated in snow, beyond that, a mountain rises, shades of blue and purple in the afternoon sun. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue outlining the white mountain peaks and a crow flies in the distance. It’s quite literally breathtaking. 

And when Christen slides her hand into Tobin’s leans her head on Tobin’s shoulder, and breathes out a dazzled, “Wow,” Tobin feels completely at peace. 

  
  


But they’re not outside all the time. 

And when they’re inside —

They haven’t expressly talked about things like labels and exclusivity, but it’s pretty obvious to both of them that there’s no real interest in anyone else. And with the amount of time they end up spending together —

Tobin wants to take things slow still. No, she NEEDS to. She can’t, she won’t be caught out again. She’s not sure she can go through it again and she doesn’t want to have to leave here, to leave her lighthouse home, to leave the comfortable life that she’s built for herself here. She’s not sure any longer that she wants to go back to shutting herself up in the lighthouse like a hermit either, though. So she holds back. She thinks things she won’t dare say yet. She remembers what the honeymoon phase of a relationship is like, how easy it is to get lost in it, and she doesn’t want to do that. She wants to be careful. 

(They call sex “making love” for a reason and Tobin isn’t ready, she isn’t there. Maybe it’s old-fashioned. Maybe it’s hypocritical since she’s hardly a virgin, but it’s just — She can’t. Not yet.)

And Christen is nothing like Lydia. She really isn’t. Most of the time Tobin doesn’t even worry about it, she doesn’t think about Lydia at all. 

But then —

“So why did you move here?” 

The question catches her so off-guard that she can’t hide her initial reaction. She can’t stop her spine from stiffening or her arm from pulling back from where it was wrapped around Christen’s shoulders. 

“I just...like the area and they offered me a job.”

“And you never interacted with people because…?” Christen prompts. 

There’s a hurt to her eyes as she repositions, moves to the far side of the couch so that she can look at Tobin instead of snuggle into her. 

Outside the snow is coming down, the wind howling from time to time as it rattles the shutters. They’ll have another few inches by morning. More in the places where it drifts. 

Inside the fire is roaring and the tea is hot, but Tobin’s blood runs suddenly cold. 

“I like time to myself.” 

Christen nods, sips her tea, studies Tobin with curious eyes. Tonight they’re the color of a stormy sea. 

“Am I in your space too much?” Christen finally asks. 

“What? No. You’re — No. Not really.” 

“Not really and no are different answers,” Christen points out. 

Tobin considers it, considers how the truth could backfire, considers how some truths are better not to hear. But is she? Is Christen here too much? 

“No,” she decides, her voice firm. “You’re not. I like having you here.” It’s not a lie, but it feels like there’s a but to it. She doesn’t say that, though. 

“Okay,” Christen replies, seeming to accept the answer. 

Tobin almost relaxes, almost settles back, almost lets her shoulders slump again, but then —

“Do you miss people from home? Like not just your family, but your friends too? You never talk about any of them.” 

Tobin’s mouth feels dry and she sips her tea, feels the warm liquid make its way down her throat. 

More quietly, Christen adds, “Do they know about me?” 

Tobin’s heart is beating a little faster in her chest and her stomach is twisting uncomfortably. She thinks about Lydia, about running into her, about how she hadn’t said anything, how easy it would’ve been to let it slip that she was seeing someone, that she was taken now. 

“My family knows.”

“But not your friends? I mean, you did have friends at home, right?” 

Tobin feels her frustration growing. She doesn’t want to get into this. It’s a new year and it’s not relevant. That’s her past and it belongs to a different place and time. Here and now she’s with Christen. She’s a lighthouse keeper. She’s the lady who hosted the coolest Halloween maze ever. She’s not the same Tobin she was when she lived at home. 

But she doesn’t know how to say any of that, how to make Christen understand how much her past doesn’t matter, how much she doesn’t want to think about it, to dwell on it. She wants to live in the here and now with her. 

Well, maybe not this exact moment. 

“Where is this even coming from?” Tobin asks, annoyance creeping into her voice. 

“I don’t know,” Christen replies, her voice even but her eyes sad. “I was just thinking about how you never talk about anyone. I mean you barely talk about your family, and then you went home and you came back and you’ve barely talked about your trip even though it’s been like a month and we see each other almost every day. And you know my whole family. You know my boss. You know my friends. And I just know you.” 

“So, what, you want to meet my family?”

“No! Maybe? I don’t know. That’s not what I’m saying, I’m just saying I feel a little like —”

“Like what?”

“Like a secret, I guess.” 

“But you’re not! Everyone in town knows that we’re seeing each other. Literally everyone. There is no privacy about it!” 

Christen stills now, and Tobin can see the tension in her body, can tell that she’s said something wrong. 

“So I have spoiled your life of solitude,” Christen says, her voice cold. 

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Tobin argued. She put her tea down on the side table a little too hard, hot liquid splashing over her fingers, but she ignored it. “I LIKE having YOU here, it’s just the rest of the town I didn’t necessarily invite along.” 

“Right. My friends. My family. My neighbors.”

“Chris —”

“You know, I should probably head home before the snow gets worse.”

“Christen!” Tobin cries out as Christen stands, walks what is left of her tea to the kitchen and sets it down. 

Tobin scrambles to her feet, follows after her. “I LIKE being with you! And I don’t even mind everyone else!”

“Yeah. It really seems like that’s the case!” 

She doesn’t really understand where she went wrong, how she got here exactly. A few minutes ago they were cuddling, Christen turning to press soft kisses to her jaw, and now —

Christen’s putting on her coat, sliding on her boots, and Tobin catches her at the door. 

“Chris, please. You want to meet my parents? We can Facetime them if you want. They’ll be thrilled! They’re so glad I’ve finally met someone else, that I’m not just here alone anymore.” 

“But are you?”

Christen asks, her eyes boring into Tobin’s. 

“YES!” Tobin assures her. And she is. She’s so glad. Christen is like a breath of fresh air. It’s just —

“Yes,” she repeats. 

Christen bites her lower lips and drops her eyes, but her hand stays on the doorknob. “I wanna know you, Tobs. Like really know you. But if you don’t let me in, don’t tell me about the past, I don’t know how I can really know the present.”

And, oh. That’s —

Tobin’s not ready. She’s not. She thought she had more time. She thought it wouldn’t matter if she showed Christen who she is now. But —

“I’m me, Chris. You know me.”

“I only know part of you. I want the whole thing.”

“But what if you don’t? What if you only think you do?” The words slip out and the sound so small. SHE sounds so small. 

Christen steps away from the door, drops her hand from the knob, and brings it up to cup Tobin’s face, her brows furrowed. “Why would you possibly think that?” 

Tobin shrugs. She really can’t say tonight. She doesn’t have the energy. 

Christen sighs, drops her hand to her side, and her eyes once again look sad. 

“I hope, someday, you’ll realize you can trust me,” Christen says. She leans in, presses a delicate kiss just beside Tobin’s mouth, and then she’s heading back to the door. “I really should head home. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” 

And Tobin nods, waves her goodbye, and feels like the biggest idiot in the world. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin has some things to work through and there's awkwardness after her fight with Christen, but she manages to pull out a pretty special Valentine's Day all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Much to Tobin’s relief, Christen does text her the next day, but Tobin isn’t a big enough idiot to not read between the lines of the rather bland message. Things aren’t okay between them. They’re not bad, exactly, but Tobin can’t help feeling like that’s where they’re heading. History has shown her, after all…

She doesn’t want that though. The thought of driving Christen away —

She feels instantly nauseous as she does her afternoon checks around the lighthouse. There’s a winter storm moving in and visibility is going to be low. She tests the horn on the lighthouse just to be sure and is rewarded by the eardrum blasting honk. She stares out at the water, already rougher than they had been in the morning, and imagines being on a ship out there, away from everything, nothing but the splash of the waves breaking over the bough of the ship, the rocking back and forth, the business of readying things for the approaching storm. It sounds appealing. 

She sits and paints for a bit, ignoring the chill that creeps into her fingers and the way that her paints seem to want to set up hard faster than she can use them. She is trying to paint the coming storm, the clouds rolling in, the foaming sea. 

In the end she rips the page from her notebook in frustration because the greens of the sea only make her think of Christen’s eyes and set her stomach rolling in anxiety yet again. 

  
  


She shows up with flowers that night. It’s her attempt at an apology. She wants to tell Christen that she does trust her, that if she didn’t she wouldn’t be here, but she doesn’t know how she can do that without opening up about Lydia and —

Well, Tobin doesn’t miss the slight hint of sadness in Christen’s eyes as she lets her inside. 

They talk about a lot of things, but it’s what isn’t spoken that hangs loudly between them. She needs to get home before the storm really hits. Already large flakes are falling slowly from the sky out of Christen’s living room window. But she can’t quite bring herself to move, to stand up, to leave while things still feel this unsettled. 

She thinks back to the first storm they spent together, and before she can think through the question, she blurts out, “Want to come back to the lighthouse and play war?” 

Christen offers a thin-lipped smile in return. “I think, maybe, there’s enough conflict here without that.” 

It’s the first time they’ve addressed the elephant in the room and Tobin wishes it would just go away. She nods sadly. “Yeah. Right. Okay.”

She gets to her feet and pulls on her sweater, then her coat, then slips on her boots. “Chris?” 

Christen is watching her every move, green eyes following her sharply. “Yeah?” 

“I DO trust you.” 

Christen takes a deep breath and smiles. It’s the softest smile she’s given her all night. “I know. I just wish it was fully.” 

And Tobin wants to argue, to shout that she does, to ask why can’t Christen see that. But she gets it, too. She gets why Christen doesn’t see it. She gets why it seems like she doesn’t. 

(And there’s the question, too, in the back of her mind, that keeps asking, “Can she fully trust someone else when she doesn’t fully trust her own judgment?”)

  
  


Jeff comes closest to knowing the truth. He doesn’t, of course. If he did, Lydia would’ve gotten a fist to the face and Jeff would’ve ended up with assault charges. Tobin didn’t want more drama. She wanted out. She wanted away. She wanted to stop seeing Lydia’s face flashing before her eyes, lips locked in a passionate kiss with someone who was definitely NOT Tobin. 

But Jeff had been home, had been around a lot, had played enough Mario Kart with her while she’d iced and elevated her knee to at the very least be suspicious when everything went south. 

It’s not that surprising, then, when it’s Jeff who texts her the warning. 

_ Lydia keeps talking around town about how good you look and how much she misses you. Did you see her when you were home? _

The snow is coming down so hard outside that visibility is next to nothing. When she steps out her front door to check the generator, the wind whips flakes into her eyes so that she can barely see for blinking them out, feeling her way along the curving side of the lighthouse, her other hand sweeping in front of her until it feels the solid wood of the door to the shed. 

Inside her head another storm rages. 

The nerve. As if Lydia hadn’t shattered Tobin beyond repair. As if she hadn’t painted herself as the victim. 

“You’re so withdrawn, Tobs. You’re always moping around about your injury. You’re always so sad. I just wanted to feel happy.”

And her supposed friends had nodded, had agreed, had said, “Well you really have pulled away a lot, did you even want to be with her still?” Had said, “No, of course we’re not blaming you, but maybe she’s not entirely at fault either.” 

And Tobin had heard the blame anyway, had felt it, had turned it inwards, and in the end, she’d run. 

The worst part was that they were right. 

She had withdrawn. She had moped. She hadn’t been all that fun to be around. She had holed up in her head and mourned the future she thought she should have had and she hadn’t been a good partner, a good girlfriend. She had brought it on herself. She hadn’t been worthy of love. 

And Lydia...she hadn’t tried to stay, to support, to be there and understand. She hadn’t fought. 

That is what sparks the hint of anger that Tobin clings to as she tests the generator, the cold seeping into her collar, snow clinging to the hair around her face. It rumbles to life and she shuts it off again. Everything is good. Maybe she can talk to the company about installing solar in the spring. There’s plenty of southward facing sunlight, even in the winter unless it’s snowing. If they could get a battery backup system, then they could use less fossil fuels. 

She makes a note in her phone when she gets back inside to talk to them about it and sees the text from Jeff waiting again. 

She hasn’t responded. She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to think about Lydia at all, and yet even though they’re not together, even though Lydia had CLEARLY moved on, and all of their friends had sided with her, even though Tobin had left in an attempt to leave it all behind, here she was, taking up space in her mind once again. 

She texts back. “Only briefly. Nothing happening” and hopes that Jeff leaves it at that. 

  
  


The horn goes off at regular intervals. In weather this bad, the light will be lucky to be seen. The clangs of the bells from the port don’t make it over the raging storm, though, so Tobin can’t help wonder how far the horn is penetrating into the blinding whiteness. 

Tobin stokes the fire, pulls her favorite green cable knit sweater up a little higher on her throat, and settles onto her couch with some tea. For the first time since she’s come to the lighthouse, she’s struck by a now almost unfamiliar sensation: loneliness. 

She picks up her phone, opens up the text chain with Christen and then puts it down again. 

She’s done that a good ten times before she finally sends off a message. 

It’s a useless one. The kind that doesn’t say anything at all. The kind that doesn’t even require a response. 

She sends a text about the weather. 

_ This storm is crazy. _

She waits, lets the seconds tick by into minutes, watches the patterns of the flames in the fireplace, wonders if she tried to paint them if she’d do them justice. 

She’s put another log on the fire before she decides to send a second text. A less useless text. She tries for a bit of honesty. 

_ I wish you were here to ride it out with me.  _

  
  


“Hey.” There’s a hopefulness she hears in her own voice when she answers the phone. 

“Hi.” Christen’s answer is more reserved. 

“It’s like...a sheet of white outside. Have you looked?” 

“Yeah. Coming down pretty hard,” Christen agrees. 

They both know that she didn’t call to talk about the weather. They may not be in the same room, but the elephant is still lurking anyway. 

Tobin takes a deep breath and lets it out. She wants to find something to say that will fix things. She wants to find something normal to say that will lead into the easy flow of conversation that they’d enjoyed before. In the end, all she can come up with is, “I’m sorry.” 

There’s a silence, and Tobin wishes that Christen was there in front of her, that she could see her eyes, see if she was biting her lip, read anything about how she’s responding to the words. 

“You’ve been different since you came back,” Christen finally replies. 

Tobin sighs. “I don’t mean to be.”

“But you won’t tell me why you are?” 

Tobin bites her lip, watches the flames dance, takes a sip of her now cold tea. “I ran into my ex.” 

There’s a beat and then a quiet, “Oh.” 

“I guess it threw me a bit,” Tobin explains. “I didn’t expect to see her.” 

There’s another beat, longer this time. Tobin feels her heart hammering in her chest as she waits. 

“Did it — Do you —” She hears Christen take a deep breath and then start again. “How did you feel about it?” 

Tobin shrugs even though Christen isn’t there to see her. She’s not ready to go into all of it, to explain the fullness of how she wasn’t the person Lydia needed, how she withdrew, how she had been selfishly focused. She doesn’t want Christen to see, yet, that maybe she’s not really worth all this effort. “It was weird. Things ended kinda...messily,” Tobin tries to explain in the vaguest of terms. “And I haven’t seen her in a few years, so it was just...a shock.” 

“Right,” Christen replies, the word stretched out as if she’s thinking other things, things she’s contemplating saying. 

There’s another pause. It’s long and awkward and Tobin has to fight the urge to fill it with useless blabber. 

“I didn’t want it to affect us,” Tobin adds. It feels like too little too late. 

“Okay…” The same slow thoughtful voice. The same feeling that she’s not saying everything she’s thinking. “So you don’t...Do you still have feelings for her?” 

Tobin doesn’t want to say, “Yes, but none of them good.” She doesn’t want to lie, either. Instead she says, “I want to be with you, Chris. I want to fix...this. I don’t — I miss you and I wish you were here and I don’t want to have to relive past relationships to get to be with you...Please.” 

There’s another lingering silence. Tobin can practically hear the “no” coming. 

But Christen surprises her. “Okay. Well, maybe I can bring you some food when the storm subsides? How are your supplies holding up?” 

Tobin admits that she’d been kind of distracted during her pre-storm shop. She’s had several slices of peanut butter on bread, but not much else. 

“So some fruit so you don’t die of scurvy?” Christen says, and there’s a normalcy, a hint of teasing in her voice that floods Tobin’s body with relief. 

Tobin chuckles. “I think it takes longer than a few days for scurvy to be a worry.” 

“You say that, but I am bringing you oranges anyway,” Christen promises. 

Tobin smiles and she thinks, just maybe, she’s saved it. 

Valentine’s Day comes up on them fast and they’ve only just really gotten back to something resembling normal since their first fight. There’s still a hint of awkwardness, a sense that there are more conversations that need to happen in the future about things, but there’s also laughing and joking and the flow of conversation that Tobin has missed. 

She wants to do something special, but she’s not really sure what. What is too much? What is too little? What kind of a present should she get her? Is Christen expecting a present? If she does too much will it seem like she’s just trying to make things up to her soon rather than she just wants to mark a special day with a special person? 

And then there’s the commercialism of Valentine’s Day, too. She’s always hated it, hated the expectations that this specific day has to be special, when really any day with someone you care about can be special. She contemplates planning a romantic dinner for February 13th instead, just to tell Valentine’s Day to stuff it, but in the end she decides that the 14th makes more sense. 

  
  


She spends the day of the 13th cleaning and decorating. And then painting. 

She’s glad she saved the large canvas because it serves her needs perfectly. She can always paint over it again if she decides she wants to, but for now, it’s perfect. 

She spends most of the 14th cooking. It’s been a while since she’s tried something this elaborate. Four courses, including a cheese course and dessert. 

She makes a few practice crêpes suzettes just to make sure that she can do it with style (and without setting her kitchen on fire) when Christen is actually here tonight. 

And, of course, she runs one small errand to pick up the present, carefully gift wrapped by the store for her. 

  
  


Christen’s eyes go wide when Tobin ushers her in. She looks beautiful in a cozy, homey kind of way with a cream colored cable knit turtleneck sweater that counters beautifully with her dark tan skin tone and blue jeans that hug her thighs so perfectly that Tobin has to resist the urge to reach out and stroke her hand up them. Her hair is down in loose curls, flowing like a waterfall down around her shoulders, and large, gold hoop earrings just peek through. She has on a hint of makeup, some eyeliner and mascara making her already gorgeous eyelashes all the more pronounced, but it’s not too much, not overwhelming. Everything seems to only accentuate her natural beauty. 

Christen, though, is taking in the fairy lights that Tobin had strung over the banister. Tobin leads her up, through the studio room and on up, through the kitchen and living room space, through her room, through the control room, and up to the light. Here they’ll have the first course, and she’s lucky that the weather has held, no rain, no snow, just clear skies over a calm ocean today. The moon is already high in the sky, reflecting it’s silvery light onto the rippling water, adding to the ambience that she’s set up with the fairy lights around the railing, the candles in little jars, and the glasses of champagne bubbling on the red blanket she’d laid out. 

“Tobin, it’s gorgeous!” Christen breathes, and Tobin smiles, but she knows she has more in store. 

She opens up the little lunch box into which she had packed the small goat cheese and caramelized onion tarts that were to be their appetizers, and sets them out on small plates. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she offers with a grin as she offers Christen one plate. 

Christen steps towards her, nudges the plate to the side, and kisses her. 

They’ve kissed since their argument, but something about this one sends excited tingles through Tobin’s body and a warmth that she’d been desperately craving. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Christen breathes against her lips. 

  
  


They nibble and they talk, the sound of waves breaking on the rocks far below travelling up and adding a calming background music to their appetizers. 

It’s cold, though, and they huddle closer and closer as they finish up the appetizers, and finally Tobin leads them back inside. 

She takes Christen’s hand, her fingers cold in her own, as she takes her back down the stairs, following the soft yellow glow of the fairy lights once again, and when they reach the kitchen, Tobin flips on the overhead light, letting the warmth of the glow fill the room and reveal the next part of the evening. 

Christen gasps. “Did you paint that?” 

Tobin grins and nods. “I thought that even though we’re still here, we could pretend to be somewhere else, maybe somewhere a little more romantic? I know you said you’ve always wanted to go.”

Christen reaches out to touch the painting, running her fingers over the bow of the gondola, tracing along the water of the canal, up the old brick facades of the buildings that line the Grand Canal of Venice. 

“Holy shit, how long did this take you?” 

“Um…” Tobin reaches up, rubs the back of her neck, feels her cheeks flushing. “Like six hours yesterday afternoon and then a few this morning? Some of that paint might not be dry, by the way, so maybe be careful.” 

Christen steps back, but keeps her eyes riveted on the painting. “You’re amazing. Do you know that? We have GOT to get you selling some of these pieces because...wow.” 

Tobin blushes harder. She moves to pull out Christen’s seat for her, but Christen catches her hand, spins her towards her, cups her face and gazes into her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips and awe in her eyes and Tobin feels herself melting into the touch. 

“You’re amazing, Tobs.” 

Tobin kisses her, long and slow. For a few minutes the idea of dinner is forgotten as she wraps her arms around Christen’s body, holds her close, licks into her mouth, gives in to want, just for a bit.

But then the smell of dinner does permeate her consciousness and she steps away with a smile on her face. 

  
  


The meal passes in a blur and Tobin knows that her biggest takeaways from it are going to be the glow of the candles in Christen’s eyes and the way her lips look pulled back into a smile. 

(And maybe, at night, when she’s alone, she’ll replay the sounds that Christen made as she ate and enjoyed every bite, but there’s no need to tell anyone that.)

When dessert rolls around, Tobin shuts off the overhead lights again. 

Christen eyes her curiously and then she gasps and giggles as the blue flames dance, fueled by the liquor in the crêpe. Tobin flips it onto a plate and sets it in front of Christen with a bit of a flare and a grin. 

“You are quite the Valentine’s date,” Christen says, looking at Tobin with a hint of awe. 

“Anything for you,” Tobin replies with a wink, only realizing once she’s turned back around exactly what she’s said. 

She doesn’t dare look at Christen again as she prepares her own (nor does she mention the ones she ate earlier when she was testing this out). When she does sit down across the table from Christen, she realizes that Christen has waited for her to eat. She realizes, too, that Christen is watching her, and when she does risk looking back up into those gorgeous eyes her breath catches. 

Christen bites her lower lip and tilts her head to the side. “Anything, huh?” 

Tobin swallows hard. “I mean, I just, I was hoping to make tonight special. I mean, not that Valentine’s Day isn’t a totally fake thing, but you’re special and so I thought you deserved a special night, and it could have been any night, but that it is also Valentine’s Day made it seem like maybe a good night for it and it was fun putting all the pieces together and surprising you when I know that things have still been a little awkward between us and I didn’t want —”

Christen puts her hand on Tobin’s. “Breathe, Tobs.” 

And Tobin does, a large gasping breath, then she blows it out slowly. 

“You didn’t have to try this hard. I’m not mad at you, you know.”

Tobin nods. She does know that. “But you are special.” 

Christen ducks her head, blushes, tucks her hair behind her ear. “To you?” 

Tobin nods again. 

“Know what’s funny?” Christen asks. 

This time Tobin shakes her head. 

“I don’t think you have any idea just how special you are.” 

Tobin’s mouth feels dry and her chest feels tight and she doesn’t really know what to say. She simply blushes and bites her lip. 

Christen’s hand still rests on hers on the table and she gives Tobin’s hand a squeeze. “I mean it you know.”

Tobin only blushes harder. She pulls her hand away and mumbles, “The crêpes taste better when they’re still hot, so we should probably eat.” 

Christen sighs and there’s a tinge of sadness to her eyes that Tobin wishes she could erase, but Christen doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, that really Tobin’s nothing all that special at all. If Lydia could do what she did, could leave her behind so easily… If her friends could stay friends with Lydia after that… Well, Tobin doesn’t want to think about Lydia. Not tonight. Not when she’s with Christen. 

  
  


After dessert, Christen goes to the couch, but Tobin runs upstairs and gets the gift she’d bought from her room. 

When she comes back down, Christen has produced a large heart-shaped box of chocolates and is holding them out with a grin. 

Tobin chuckles. 

“They’re from Casey’s Chocolates in town. Best truffles you’ve ever tasted,” Christen says as she hands the box over. 

Tobin takes her own present, a thin, rectangular box, out from behind her back and holds it out to Christen. 

Christen eyes the pale pink box warily. “Tobin this is too much,” she murmurs before she’s even opened the lid. 

Tobin settles on the couch beside her, box of chocolates in hand, eyes steady on Christen to watch her reaction. 

“It’s some of the sand from the beach here,” Tobin’s explaining before Christen’s really had a chance to take it in. “And some resin made to look the color of the sea. And...well, the color of your eyes. That’s what they look like to me. The sea. But like when it’s at its most beautiful. Staring into your eyes is like letting the soothing ocean wash over me. It’s —” Tobin cuts herself off when Christen looks up, wonder in her eyes. She lifts the chain and the small pendant delicately and her eyes fall back to it. 

“Tobin, it’s too much,” she repeats. 

Tobin shakes her head. “It wasn’t much. I just...had an idea. And Midge said she could make it, so…” She swallows hard and then Christen is turning around, lifting up her hair with one hand as she holds out the necklace with the other. “Will you put it on me?” 

Tobin puts the box of chocolates down, takes the thin chain and scoots closer, breathing in the sweet scent of Christen’s shampoo as she carefully fixes the necklace around Christen’s neck. 

Her skin is smooth and inviting, and Tobin can’t help placing a soft kiss to the side of her neck before she pulls away and moves back to her own seat. 

Christen straightens the pendant on her chest and turns to Tobin with a smile. “I should’ve gotten you more. I’m sorry.” 

Tobin is quick to shake her head. “No. This is perfect. I just...I just wanted to spend tonight with you. That’s all.” 

“All night?” Christen asks, raising her eyebrow. 

Tobin blushes. “I didn’t mean — I’m still — Should we taste the chocolates?” 

Christen giggles and reaches for the box. She opens it up, picks one carefully out, and puts it into Tobin’s mouth. 

Tobin’s eyes close and she moans out loud at the taste. “Espresso filled. My favorite.”

“I know,” Christen replies, sounding the tiniest bit smug. 

When Tobin kisses her, she tastes like chocolate and champagne. 

  
  


They end up in her bed, and she’s not really sure how. She doesn’t trust herself here. Not with Christen underneath her, body squirming against hers, head thrown back against her pillow, chest heaving as she pants under Tobin’s mouth on her throat. 

But she can’t bring herself to stop, either. She wants Christen here, in her space, with her. 

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. 

And Christen’s fingers are in her hair and her leg is sliding up between Tobin’s, and every sensation is putting her body on edge. 

Christen tugs her back up, kisses her lips, moans into her mouth. “Fuck, Tobs,” she gasps, her breath hot on Tobin’s face. 

She moves a hand to Tobin’s chest, solid and stilling, and presses, just gently. 

“Baby, if we don’t stop, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.” 

Tobin’s body doesn’t want to stop, but her mind…

She takes the offered exit, rolling off of Christen and onto her back. 

Christen doesn’t get up, though. She rolls onto her side, curls her body around Tobin’s, and throws a leg across Tobin’s. She twirls a piece of Tobin’s hair around her finger, then trails the same finger on down, over Tobin’s chest, down to her stomach, and traces faint circles there. 

“You turn me on SO much,” Christen admits into her shoulder, pressing a small kiss there. 

Tobin bites her lip, her body still on fire. She knows why she wants to wait, but part of her wants to say, “fuck it,” and take Christen right there and then. 

“Stay?” she hears herself ask. “Not like to — Will you stay tonight? We can just...snuggle?”

Christen moves to kiss her lips, but it’s quick and chaste and Tobin has to fight the urge to chase the kiss and deepen it. “I’d love that,” Christen replies. 

Tobin smiles, and, just for a moment, gives in. Kisses Christen a little longer, a little deeper. 

“But,” Christen breathes the word against her lips, and it’s enough to make Tobin reluctantly pull back. “We should probably refrain from too much more of that.”

Tobin nods in agreement. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Chris.”

Christen kisses her again. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Tobin.” 

  
  



End file.
